


A Thousand Lifetimes Over

by demesh



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Fallen Angels, I'll probably add more tags as I go, M/M, Neil and Andrew have been pining for thousands of years, Sleep Paralysis, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, and then one lifetime they end up in Palmetto, ish, vaguely Fallen inspired, very vaguely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demesh/pseuds/demesh
Summary: Neil's been having strangely vivid dreams, about him and some blond boy, for months now. He didn't think much of them, until the day he got to Palmetto and saw that very same boy looking right back at him.Despite having never seen him before, Neil could swear he knew him. And he could tell that boy was keeping something from him.Whatever it was, Neil was determined to find out. He just wasn't prepared for what it might cost him.A reincarnation AU.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 116
Kudos: 233





	1. Prologue

The lights were dim in the drawing room, the edges of the walls seeming fuzzy and soft. Or maybe it was the edges of his vision that were blurry.

Neil stumbled inside, one hand clutching the halfway open door, barely keeping himself upright. The other hand was clasped around his side, which by now has gone numb; his whole body was numb, except for his tingling fingertips.

“Neil?”

Neil looked ahead to see a short, blond man stand up from a chair in a frenzy, bright eyes open wide as he stepped toward him. He couldn’t attach a name to the person; but as he collapsed to the ground, he found that he didn’t mind this person catching him.

“Neil, stay with me,” the stranger said. He knew his name. His brow furrowed. Was this his name? A light slap to his cheek had him blinking to clear his vision, once again focusing on the man’s fair skin. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Stay with me.”

“I’m…” Neil’s mouth was full of cotton. Cotton that tasted an awful lot like metal. “Am... am I dying?”

“No,” the blond said, but Neil could see the strain at the curl of his lips. “No, not again. You’re making it through this, Neil.”

Neil’s eyelids were heavy, so heavy. If he could just rest for a moment, it would all make sense again. Again, again?

“Neil,” the man’s voice strained. “Neil, look at me, please, just look at me.”

Neil felt his heart stutter at the plea. It wasn’t a good sign. He didn’t want him to plead; but he didn’t know why. Yet he did as he was asked, eyes flicking to meet hazel ones. Even though Neil’s never seen this man before, these eyes were painfully familiar, and it felt as if he’d stared into them a thousand times before.

“You’re going to be alright,” the man told him. “You’re going to be just fine, Neil.”

He huffed in response, and it turned into a cough inside his throat. Blood spluttered onto his lips. He wanted to say something, but the words died in his mouth as his breath hitched. He coughed again, vaguely aware of the blood spluttering onto the man’s white dress-shirt.

“You’re alright,” the man whispered as he held him close, head inclining against Neil’s. “Fuck, I hate you so much.”

“I know…” Neil managed, “that you don’t.”

The man looked at him with the deepest sadness Neil’s ever seen. “I do. You don’t even know.”

Neil didn’t have the clearance of mind to respond anymore. His muscles lost their fight to hold firm, and he went completely slack in the man’s hold, breathing shallowly. His vision spotted black.

He didn’t know why, but he was comforted by the man’s touch; knowing he wouldn’t die all alone. He didn’t want to die alone.

“I’m sorry,” said the blond, trembling ever so faintly. Neil felt every vibration in his core. He said something else, but Neil didn’t hear him anymore.

As he faded, he felt sadness invade his heart, for a loss of something he didn’t even know that he had.

And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this scene lying around for a few months, and then today I came across it and I thought — hey this is kinda interesting, maybe I should continue it. Not to mention that I like reincarnation stories a lot. Like a lot-lot. And then I decided that even though I have a gazzilion things I’m already writing, it shall be written :D Hopefully I will actually manage to do that.
> 
> I would be very happy to get feedback on this, so don't be shy! And thank you for reading :)


	2. Chapter 1

Neil snapped awake, instinctively clutching at his side as a startled gasp escaped his lips. It earned him a few curious glances from those in nearby seats, but he ignored them in favour of making sure he didn’t have a bleeding hole in him; logically, he knew he didn’t, but the pain was still lacing fading pulses all throughout his body.

He licked his teeth, closing his eyes to focus on their taste. It took him a few beats to register that they didn’t taste metallic. Instead, he recognised the faint aftertaste of the crappy airport-coffee he’d had before boarding the plane.

Plane. He was on a plane. His eyes snapped open again and turned to the small window on his left; he was faced with the view of thin trails of clouds, a random bird flapping by.

That’s right. He was on his way to South Carolina.

Neil sank against his seat. It’s been a few weeks since Coach Wymack had approached him in his former high-school locker room, asking him to join the Foxes in their misfit exy college-team; at first instinct, Neil had wanted to decline. But then he’d thought, _hey, my father’s dead and buried —_ it’d been a shot to the head five months prior, courtesy of his uncle. So he’d ended up saying, “why the hell not?” — and now here he was, on a plane to Palmetto, having one of his stupid nightmares again.

Neil’s theory was that these dreams were some kind of fear manifestation that came out after he’s stopped, y’know, fearing for his life at every turn. It’s been five months, and his father was still dead; it’s been five months with nobody trying to sniff out his trail. It’s been five months that he didn’t have to constantly move from place to place.

Frankly, he couldn’t quite shake the habit of looking over his shoulder, both physically and metaphorically. It was all he could do to convince himself to actually get on this flight; his thoughts and anxieties have exhausted him enough to plunge him into a deep and, apparently, restless sleep.

Well, now he was wide awake, and he was definitely not planning on going back to sleep anytime soon. They were probably almost there already, anyway.

Neil got as comfortable as he could, considering, and spent the rest of the flight trying to assign shapes to the clouds. When they landed, he had so meticulously compartmentalised his looming sense of dread, both from the dream and of his destination, that he passed through security in a blessed sense of numbness.

From here to there, he found himself climbing out of a cab with his duffle bag flung over his shoulder, tipping the driver extra for not having tried to make small talk. And then he was standing in front of the Palmetto State University athlete dormitories.

He briefly debated ditching the whole idea and fleeing to Russia, but before he could make a decision — maybe Cyprus would be a better idea, this time of the year; not to mention he was pretty sure his family had a beef with at least _some_ Russian mobsters — it was made for him as he saw a tall and dark guy approaching him with a friendly smile plastered on his face.

“Oh, great,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his stance so that his duffle bag was halfway hidden from view behind his back.

“Neil Josten?” asked the guy upon reaching him. Neil gave a reluctant nod. “I’m Matt Boyd. Wymack sent me to welcome you, and, y’know, show you the way around your new home.”

Neil quirked an eyebrow at him. “My new home,” he dryly repeated. Matt shrugged, not seeming to mind his sardonic edge.

“Yeah, yeah, it sounds cliché,” he said, starting to advance toward the building. Neil glanced to the sides before promptly following. “But you won’t even believe how fast you’re going to start thinking that.”

“If you say so,” Neil absently said, observing the parking lot. It was empty, save for a truck and a pretty slick black car. Neil halted as he passed it.

“Sweet ride, isn’t it?” Matt said. Neil nodded. “I wouldn’t suggest getting anywhere near it, though.”

“How come?” Neil asked as they resumed walking, stealing another glance at the car. There was something about it, beyond the shiny black paint and its stature, that attracted his attention; but he couldn’t point a finger on what it was.

“It’s Andrew’s,” Matt said. “You shouldn’t mess with him.”

“Who’s Andrew?”

Matt gave him a brief glance over his shoulder, before entering the building. Neil followed, holding the door open as he held back, head tilted in curiosity.

“Eh, just a short, kinda angry, kinda stabby guy,” Matt explained. “I guess you’ll know when you see him. C’mon, let’s show you our floor.”

They climbed up the stairs, as the elevator was apparently broken. “Y’know how it is with athletes,” Matt joked. “We play a sport and suddenly it’s okay to not fix our elevator.”

“How long has it been broken?”

“As long as this building’s been standing, if I had to guess,” Matt said. When they reached their floor, Neil pulled out of his pocket the note with the details Wymack had emailed him a few days ago.

“Room 317,” he muttered, scouring the hallway. Matt, in front of him, was in clear enough view for Neil to undeniably see the way he’s gone rigid.

“317?” Matt said, turning to him with a crease between his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, that’s what Wymack said,” Neil said. “I mean, Coach Wymack. I guess. We’re on the right floor, right?”

“Yeah, we are,” Matt muttered, turning to face the hallway again. “Man, he isn’t going to be happy.”

Neil’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound ominous at all.

Matt stalked halfway through the hallway, before knocking on what Neil soon saw was room 317. When there was no response, Matt tried the handle, then gave a sigh. “Do you have a key?”

Neil rummaged through his pockets before fishing out a small, rusty key, and handed it to Matt. The lock gave and they entered the room, which looked to be empty. There was a bunk bed, the bottom one perfectly made and the top one disarrayed; against the opposite wall stood a single bed with no sheets on it.

“Oh thank God, they’re not here,” Matt said. “I’ve got to tell you, Neil. Be strong.”

“Huh?” He stalked into the room and dropped his duffle bag on the bare bed, assuming it was there for him. He took a mental note to go buy some sheets later. “Am I rooming with a serial killer or something?”

Matt laughed, but Neil didn’t miss the way he didn’t deny it. Well. It wouldn’t be anything _too_ new, then. On his death bed, Neil could at least take comfort in the fact that his anxieties weren’t completely baseless.

“I’ll give you some time to settle in,” Matt said. “When you’re ready, come to my room — 321. We could go grab some dinner.”

Neil nodded reassurance and sat on the edge of his new bed, inconspicuously tugging the duffle bag toward himself. Matt gave him a hesitant smile before leaving.

Neil counted to twenty before shoving his duffle bag under the bed, not bothering to unpack. It was half out of habit, and half from genuine uncertainty; he didn’t know how long he was planning to stay around. Sure, it’d seemed like a good idea for half a second; with his father dead and Neil free from his threat, there was nothing holding him back in trying out college. But Neil wasn’t sure how much it was going to work out. He’s never really tried settling down anywhere before.

Not to mention that he didn’t have all that much to unpack in the first place.

Neil stood from the bed, intending to explore the little complex he was going to be living in, when the sound of conversation reached him from the hallway. He waited for the speakers to go away; instead, the voices got closer and closer, until Neil realised they were coming in.

The door opened, and in stepped a blond, short boy.

Neil froze when their eyes met, feeling his heart stop for a second when he recognised them. They were the same eyes, hazel and bright, that had held his as he’d been dying, dreaming; the familiarity they’d beheld before was still there, tugging at his breath in the same way that car in the parking lot was familiar. The kind of familiar that instantly slipped from his fingers.

Neil felt like he’s seen these eyes somewhere before — somewhere outside of his own subconscious.

The blond halted so abruptly that his companion walked right into him and promptly swore. “What the hell, Andrew? You had to stop literally _right_ in the middle of the—“

The second guy’s voice trailed off as he caught sight of Neil standing in the middle of their room, jaw going slack. “Nathaniel.”

_Now_ Neil’s heart really did stop, his eyes widening as he wildly stumbled backwards. “How do you know that?” he blurted before he could realise what he was saying, and promptly stepped back further, panic seizing him as his back met the wall. He looked around, trying to find a way out — bingo; an open window at the other end of the room, its screen, for whatever reason, gone; it was a bit of a fall, but Neil’s jumped from higher, he could walk it off—

“I—I read about you in the news,” said the guy, his words belatedly registering to Neil. Neil’s gaze snapped back to the pair; neither he nor the blond have moved, both their gazes fixed on him as if they were looking at a ghost.

Okay, what even. Why were _they_ surprised?

“It was a pretty big story for a while there, I couldn’t help but recognise you,” said the guy, elbowing the blond — Andrew, did he call him? “—Right?”

Andrew shook off his stupor and walked into the kitchen, not sparing either Neil or his companion another glance. Neil frowned, positively confused, and looked back to the guy still stationed by the door.

“I’m Kevin,” said the guy. “Kevin Day. I’m on the exy team.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Neil dryly said. Alarm rose to Kevin’s expression, before Neil gestured around him. “Athlete dormitories and all. And I go by Neil, now. Nathaniel’s dead.”

“Oh, right,” Kevin said. “Sorry.”

Neil felt the tension trickle out of his muscles, and he crossed his arms, his stance against the wall morphing from rigid to him leaning against it. He gestured his head toward the kitchen. “So what’s his deal?”

Kevin followed Neil’s gaze, and then looked back to him. Neil could practically taste the hesitation with how potent it was. “He’s just like that.”

“What, just randomly an asshole?” Neil said, eyebrows perked.

“Yep,” Kevin said, voice full of almost comedic resignation. He stalked the distance from the door to the perfectly made bed and sat on it, the room’s door slamming shut on its own.

An awkward silence befell them.

“Okay, so, I’m gonna go,” Neil said after a few long seconds, pushing himself away from the wall. He had to consciously stifle the reflex to grab his duffle bag when he turned to leave, patting his pockets to make sure he still had the key.

Once he was out of the room and standing a few feet away, he let out a huff. “Okay, that was weird,” he muttered to himself, glancing back at his room’s door. He shook his head, decided to put off this incident for later, and went in search of Matt’s room.

Turned out it wasn’t much of a search at all, seeing as it was the room directly opposite his own. He rapped against the door, which almost immediately opened.

“Neil!” called Matt, as if they were old friends seeing each other for the first time in years, rather than two hour-old acquaintances who’ve literally just spoken. “You’re quick, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” Neil said.

“You ready to go?” Matt asked, receiving a shrug in return. At that he stepped out of the room, locked the door behind him and bypassed Neil, gesturing for him to follow. “I know this great taco place — do you like tacos? You look like a taco kinda guy.”

Neil followed him as he started to descend the stairs. “Sure, I like them.” Truth be told, he didn’t have much of a preference; food was food, and he was starting to get hungry enough to eat whatever.

“We’re meeting with the girls for dinner,” Matt told him. “They’re also on the team. They’re dying to meet you.”

“They are?” Neil asked.

“Oh, yeah,” said Matt. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Neil’s mood soured instantly, and he stopped in his place in the middle of the staircase. “From the news, you mean?”

Matt turned to him with a frown on his face, before realisation invaded his features. “Oh, shoot, man, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I mean, like, exy-wise. Wymack’s told us lots about you.”

Neil’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t tell his new coach anything that he wouldn’t have already known from the news; unless, of course, it was exy related. Was he _that_ good at exy that it would garner such an anticipation? He’s only started getting seriously into it after his father’s death; his high-school team hadn’t even gotten into any tournaments. Sure, he himself had his moments, if he would say so himself — but these guys had to have had more skill and experience in their midst.

“They really like exy, then,” Neil reluctantly said.

“Oh yeah,” Matt hurried to reply, his face breaking back into a smile. They resumed their walking, Neil inconspicuously grabbing onto the railing in case he needed a shortcut.

It turned out that Matt’s ‘taco place’ was a half-assed stand stationed by the nearest highway, sheltered next to an abandoned and roofless bus-station.

“Somebody stole the roof a while ago,” Matt told him as they sat on the sad metal bench with their tacos, waiting for the girls — who, according to Matt, were late due to a fashion emergency. “They did fix it, but then it got stolen again, and it just stayed that way.”

“Good thing it isn’t raining, then,” Neil said, licking the sauce dripping from the end of his taco, which only caused it to drop out of the other end instead.

He was halfway through his taco when he heard a female voice calling out. “Matt!”

The two boys lifted their gazes to see a trio of girls approaching them with grins on their faces, one of them — the one who’s called out, with dark skin and brown hair — waving at them.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” the girl said when they stopped, all huddled in the confines of the bus stop. Her eyes met Matt’s, something incomprehensible passing through them. “Neil, right?”

Neil nodded.

“I’m Dan,” she said, gesturing at herself. Gesturing at the blonde girl she said, “that’s Allison,” and gesturing at the one with the rainbow-coloured bob she said, “and that’s Renee. We’re super thrilled to finally meet you.”

“Our team’s been missing a member,” said the blonde — Allison, leaning her shoulder against the station’s wall. “It’s thanks to you that we can play competitively this year.”

“Yay me,” said Neil.

“I see you haven’t waited for us,” Dan chided at Matt, who smiled apologetically behind his taco.

“They were going to get cold,” he said. “But I could go for another one.”

Dan rolled her eyes. “You could go for another five.”

The girls got their tacos and sat on the ground, facing the bench, seeing as it was too small to accommodate them all. Matt, true to his declaration, got him and Neil another round of tacos, even though Neil hasn't asked him to. Not that he was complaining — these tacos _were_ pretty damn good.

“So, Neil,” said Renee, her voice smooth and soft. “How do you like Palmetto so far?”

Neil shrugged. “Guess I haven’t seen enough of it yet.”

“Have you met the Monsters?” asked Allison, biting into her taco. Neil tilted his head in inquiry.

“She means Andrew’s lot,” Matt clarified. “Your roommates.”

Allison chocked on her taco bite. “He’s rooming with _Andrew_?”

A sudden sense of unexplained protectiveness swarmed Neil. “And what if I am?”

Dan and Allison exchanged glances, before simultaneously shrugging.

“Wait, have you?” asked Matt, perking in curiosity when Neil nodded. “And how did they react?”

“Like they’ve seen a ghost,” Neil said, not missing the way everyone shifted uncomfortably. His eyes narrowed again and he leaned back, finishing his taco before saying, “okay, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Matt said, straining a laugh that didn’t help his case at all.

“I thought the feds were joking,” Neil said, waving a hand absently about. “When they said I’d have to reintegrate. Especially after a case so public.”

Now everyone was actively avoiding meeting his eyes, except for Renee, who looked on calmly.

“Is it the fact my dad was a mobster?” Neil said. “Is that it? You think I’m gonna hurt you guys or something?”

“Neil, honey,” Allison said, voice pitching in alarm. “We don’t think that.”

“Yeah, we’re just assholes,” Matt said. “We didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Dan. “We’re just excited to have you.”

“Yeah, our team sucks so much that no one’s joined this year except for you,” Allison jokingly said. Neil looked from one person to the next, his caution slowly waning. Maybe he _was_ out of the loop, and has misread the whole situation.

“Andrew didn’t look excited,” he said. A beat of silence passed before he realised what he was saying, and he frowned.

Allison swallowed a smile. “Andrew’s never excited.”

“Did he really not do anything?” Dan asked, perking in curiosity. “When he met you, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Neil said. “Why? What was he supposed to do?”

“Stab you?” suggested Matt. Neil’s eyebrows rose.

“Does he often do that?”

Allison’s face scrunched in consideration. “From time to time.”

“When he feels like it,” supplied Dan, finishing her taco.

“That’s reassuring,” Neil dryly said. “Considering I’m going to be living with him.”

“Kevin will protect you,” Matt said. Allison snorted, which caused her to burst into a coughing fit.

“Please,” she huffed after recovering, waving her hand dismissively. “Kevin couldn’t protect a fish from a coral.”

“He is vicious on the court, though,” Matt said.

“He is?” asked Neil.

“He’s one of the best there is,” Dan told him. “You haven’t heard about him?”

Neil shrugged. “I’ve been a little busy.” Running from the mafia and all.

“Andrew’s scary good, too,” Matt said. “When he tries, that is.”

“Which he never does,” said Allison.

“Which is why we never win,” concluded Dan. Matt scowled at her, crossing his arms.

“Way to believe in us, captain,” he bitterly said, making Renee snicker and Allison bark a laugh.

Neil looked to Dan. “You’re the captain?”

Dan nodded, pride glowing on her face. “The very one.”

Neil gave an appreciative huff. “So, who else is on the team? Besides you guys, and Andrew and Kevin.”

“Nicky, and Aaron,” said Allison, counting off her fingers. “Andrew’s cousin, and twin brother.”

“He’s got a twin?”

“Yes,” Matt sighed. “Twice the menace.”

“Aaron isn’t _that_ bad,” said Dan.

“He just isn’t very good at exy,” explained Allison. “But we need the members, so he’s on the team.”

“With you in our ranks, we’ll go to championships!” announced Dan. “At very long last, too.”

Neil smirked. “Oh, yeah? And what if I turn out to completely suck?”

“You don’t,” said Renee serenely, a satisfied little smile on her face. Neil raised his eyebrows, as if challenging.

“We saw your game tapes,” Matt said. “You’re very far away from sucking.”

“Definitely better than Aaron,” nodded Allison approvingly.

“Wait ‘till he hears you say it,” Dan teased her, and Allison shoved her away. A smile crept its way up Neil’s lips.

Soon enough, he’s forgotten his initial discomfort; the sun was long set by the time they left, making their way back to Fox Tower. It wasn’t until they reached their floor that Neil suddenly halted, the words dying on his lips.

He stood face to face with Andrew, only Neil quickly realised it wasn’t Andrew at all. _Must be Aaron, then,_ he distractedly thought. Next to Aaron stood a tall guy, who, by process of elimination, must’ve been the cousin — Nicky. Neil didn’t know how he could possibly be related to Andrew, seeing as he was, firstly, tall, and secondly, much darker in complexion.

There was a stretching silence, before Nicky beamed and offered his hand for a handshake. “You must be Neil, right?”

Neil nodded and shook his hand, eyes darting from the cousin to the brother. “Nicky, right?”

“That’s right,” Nicky enthusiastically said, before gesturing at Aaron. “This is Aaron.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aaron said with no feeling whatsoever, levelling Neil with his gaze. Hazel eyes, but not the right kind of hazel.

They didn’t linger for long, Nicky claiming they had someplace to be and promptly being dragged away by Aaron. Neil bemusedly looked after them. At least they weren’t hostile or anything.

“Goodnight, Neil,” Matt said, a chorus of _goodnight_ ’s parroting him. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” Neil said. Matt went into his room opposite Neil’s, and the girls waved at him as they entered the room at the end of the hall.

Neil was left standing alone, looking at his own room’s door.

He bit the inside of his cheek, before resolutely coming in and shutting the door behind him. He was relieved, if not unsurprised, to find it empty. His eyes instinctively skittered to the duffle under the bed, but he made no move to grab it as he flopped down on his bare bed.

When Andrew came in, this time alone, they didn’t acknowledge each other at all. It was only after Andrew was settling down to go to sleep that Neil suddenly spoke.

“I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Andrew’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn to look at him. “Must’ve met Aaron.”

“No,” Neil quietly said. “I mean, yes, I’ve met him, but that’s not what I meant.”

Andrew spared him a brief glance. “We haven’t met.”

Neil sat on his bed, flinging his legs over its edge and leaning forward, forearms against his knees. He caught Andrew’s gaze, and cocked his head. “Then why do you look so familiar?”

He knew the answer, clear as day: he’s been dreaming about him. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Dreaming about someone you’ve never met, and then, all of the sudden, meeting him one day?

It puzzled him all the same.

“We haven’t met,” Andrew said again, his voice bland. Neil’s eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to insist, but then Andrew suddenly turned, the threat clear in his stance as he leaned back against the bunk bed. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away.”

“Why’s that?” challenged Neil. “I’m not scared of you.”

And it was true. Despite his teammates’ warnings, he couldn’t say he shared their sentiment. He was confused, yes; intrigued, definitely. But he wasn’t scared.

“You should be,” Andrew said, voice cold and piercing the air.

They were interrupted by the door suddenly opening, and both their gazes snapped to the entrance. Kevin froze on the threshold, looking between them with what Neil could only define as genuine concern.

It didn’t last very long. The room quickly resumed its nightly ritual when Kevin stalked toward the bathroom, shortly thereafter emerging wearing exy-sticks pyjamas; Neil couldn’t help but audibly groan at the sight, already picturing the kind of teammate that Kevin was going to be.

He waited until the room fell dark and still before silently pulling his duffle out from under the bed, rummaging through it for a toothbrush. He should probably also buy some pyjamas, now that he was thinking about it.

He climbed onto his bare bed after getting ready, and was just about to doze off when he felt something soft hit him from above. He blinked to see a set of folded bed sheets covering him, and caught a dark glimpse of Andrew pulling himself back up onto his own bed.

Neil couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he climbed to his feet and quickly made his bed, shortly flopping back on it and burying his face in the pillow. He fell asleep almost instantly.

And then he dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I thought this was going to take me much longer to write, but oh well. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

Neil was cold.

His teeth were chattering; shudders were running up and down his spine, his arms, the back of his neck unbearably bristling. He was cold enough to barely feel his fingers; for his nose to be running; for his eyes to hurt, undoubtedly bloodshot.

He felt hazy, and he felt scared, but he also felt the unmistakable sensation of being pressed against someone; a warmth at his back, strong and solid and nothing like the freezing cold threatening to take over him.

A blast shook the ground, and someone pulled him toward themselves lest he fall away. He buried his face in a shoulder, a crook of the neck, the impossible warmth radiating against his own skin. “How a-aren’t you f-freezing?” he mumbled, the sounds in his mouth tasting foreign. Huh.

“I don’t get cold,” replied a voice, just as warm as the person himself.

Neil let out a weak laugh. “A-are you like a m-miracle, or something?”

“Or something,” said the voice, quiet. “Try to sleep, Neil.”

“Can’t,” he mumbled. “M’too cold.”

The person wrapped their arms around him, the additional warmth blessedly sinking into Neil’s bones. He relaxed, just the tiniest bit, and closed his eyes. “I’ll keep you warm.”

And then he was wide awake, standing, no longer freezing but no one keeping him close anymore; he was standing in the middle of a ruined road, cobblestones overthrown, pillars collapsed on a ground piled with snow. Overhead, the sky was heavy with dark gray clouds; the thin sound of sirens wailed from everywhere, accompanied by the sound of blasts and the occasional tremble of the ground. Such a tremble, sudden and overwhelming, nearly threw him off his feet — but Neil steadied himself, skittering aside as a building collapsed nearby.

“Holy hell,” he muttered to himself, looking around for shelter. Instead, he found a blond mop of hair, looking around just as frantically as him.

Their eyes met, both relaxing in relief — but the relief didn’t last long. Another blast shook the ground, and Neil stumbled away, losing sight of Andrew. He turned this and that way, but the street’s layout has been altered by the blast; he could no longer map it out, find where he’s just seen him. Where _he,_ himself, was.

Something grabbed his shoulder and he lashed out instinctively, elbow breaking a nose and a familiar cursing having him swirl around before pulling Andrew into a tight hug.“God, I thought I just saw you die!” he exclaimed as Andrew returned the gesture, surprisingly holding on. “Holy fuck, don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m not dying anytime soon,” Andrew said, the barest hint of bitterness lacing his voice. Neil frowned, but before he could say anything else, he heard it.

It was quiet, and distant, but the distress was unmistakable; the sound of a little girl sobbing. “Please, someone!” she cried. “I’m stuck! Please, help!”

Neil whipped his head toward the direction of the cries, eyes zeroing in on the remains of a church, fire blazing from it. He stepped forward before he was done thinking about it, but a hand pulling him back stopped him.

He turned back to see Andrew grabbing his wrist, eyes blazing with something indistinguishable. “Neil, don’t.”

“She needs help,” he said.

“Someone will help her.” Andrew stepped in front of him to hide the church from view. “It’s not your job to save her.”

“What?” Neil’s voice pitched, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. “Andrew, by the time anyone reaches her, she’d have burned to death already.”

“So what, you’ll run into the fire after her?” Andrew snapped. “I won’t let you do that. I’m not going to lose you again for some _girl_.”

_Again with the again_ , Neil absently thought, before frowning at himself in confusion.Where did _that_ thought come from? He shook his head, half to forget about the sentiment and half in response to Andrew’s; he couldn’t just leave someone to die, not like that.

He broke into a run toward the church, his hand slipping out of Andrew’s, and slid into the narrow opening left from the collapsed entrance. If he were fast enough, he could use it to get out again before it completely caved. “Where are you?” he called out, cringing when the echo made some debris shift. He crouched, pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose to filter out the smoke, though that did nothing to stop his eyes from watering.

“I’m here! Please, help me!” cried the little girl.

Neil advanced toward the voice, navigating by calling out to her every now and again, progressively getting closer and closer. Until finally, he saw her.

She was trapped under a fallen beam, right in front of the alter. Her whole body was hiccuping with her sobs, her arms protectively curled over her head, her torso trapped.

He stopped in front of her, gingerly guiding her hands off her head. She lifted big, red and swollen eyes to him, still hiccuping.

“Hey there,” he soothingly said, shifting to inspect the beam. It seemed to be resting on her; not crushing, and, by the look of it, not having broken anything. Breathing a sigh of relief, he settled his eyes back on her. “What’s your name?”

“A-Anastasia,” she hiccuped. “But my—my Mama calls me Anna.”

“Alright, Anna,” he said, getting in position next to her. “I’m going to lift this beam. When I do, I want you to run right there.” He pointed to where he’s come from, knowing the path was clear enough for her to figure out. “Until you get out. Don’t wait for me, alright? I’m gonna be right behind you.”

“O-okay,” she hiccuped.

“On three,” he said, putting his hands in position. “One.” Anna shifted slightly, getting ready to spring the moment the weight was off of her. “Two.” He readied himself. “Three.”

The moment he lifted the beam enough, Anna was running, gone into the passage Neil’s directed her to. She didn’t look back.

“Good girl,” he huffed to himself, letting the beam drop before scrambling to his feet and breaking into a run after her. The building was becoming unstable again, by the creaking and screeching sounds coming from everywhere; the heat of the flames was getting closer, the air growing stifling, the smoke thickening. He dropped to his knees at a part of the passage that’s gotten shorter since he’s first gone through it, and started crawling forward, cringing every now and then as the ground shook and debris collapsed behind him, or somewhere he couldn’t see. He could stand again by the time he reached the entrance, the slim passage still available; he could see the girl squeezing through it, breaking free into the freezing night air.

He was less than a foot’s distance away when the passage suddenly collapsed, sealing him inside.

He skidded to a stop, barely managing to hold himself back from running head-first into the debris. His eyes darted around him, looking for another way out — he saw a window, but as he started heading toward it, more debris collapsed and sealed it.

It wasn’t long before he was back on the ground, head bent low to avoid the heat, shirt pulled over his mouth and nose again to keep out the smoke. He was pressed against the fallen debris by the entrance, observing the walls of debris trapping him in; he had no way out, and the flames were closing in.

“Neil!”

His neck twitched, before he realized it was coming from outside. He leaned his head back with a sigh.

“Neil, are you in there?” Andrew yelled.

“Yeah,” he called back, voice dull. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Can you get out?”

Of course, both of them knew the answer. Neil couldn’t get out. Could Andrew get to him? Honestly, Neil hoped he couldn’t.

“Andrew, I’m fine,” he croaked out, surprised at the texture of his own voice. The smoke must’ve gotten to him more than he’s realized. He cleared his throat, feeling the tinge of ash on his tongue. “I’m fine, I’m not hurt.”

_Not for long, though_ , he thought.

“I can’t get to you,” Andrew said, voice desperate. “I can’t get in.”

He was soaking wet now, letting his shirt drop from his face. Not much point to it, anyway. “I know, Andrew.”

“You don’t,” Andrew said. His voice was gravelly, as if he were the one trapped amid clouds of fire and smoke. Neil’s breathing was labored now, eyes squinting against the blazing light. Closer, closer, it was getting closer, and he couldn’t get out.

“It’s alright, Andrew,” he called out. “Get away from here. Before the fire gets out.”

“I’m not leaving you,” snapped that. Neil sighed, not finding it in him to argue.

“Is the girl alright?” he asked instead.

“She’s fine,” Andrew told him. “She’s scared and crying, but she’s alive. Thanks to you.”

Neil let out a weak laugh, which came out more as a heavy exhale. “Good, that’s good.”

“You idiot,” he heard Andrew say. “Why do you always have to do that?”

“What, run into burning buildings?”

And it was _really_ burning now. Neil started feeling the twinges of pain; and the fire hasn’t even reached him yet. Soon it will. He didn’t think about it.

“Keep being a fucking martyr,” Andrew said. “No one asked you to do this.”

“I couldn’t let—“ his voice got lost somewhere in his throat, and he curled into himself, legs and arms pulled close to keep away from the flames. They were so close now. And so hot. He could feel the heat on his face; made stronger by his layers of clothes. “I couldn’t let her die, Andrew.”

“So what, now you die instead?” Andrew said. Again, Neil could detect the sharp edge of bitterness. And why wouldn’t he be bitter?

“It was worth it,” he said. A cough racked through him, tearing out of his sore throat, springing tears from his eyes. Tears that immediately evaporated.

“It wasn’t,” Andrew said. “You keep leaving.”

“M’right here,” Neil mumbled, voice hoarse and throat hurting. “M’okay.”

But then the flames reached him, and they tore the screams out of him against his will, throat shredding until nothing but sobs came out. Soon enough, he knew nothing but the overwhelming agony, and the tears, and the sound of his own name slicing through the flames.

When he was swept by the black, it was with Andrew’s name dying on the tip of his tongue.

***

Neil woke up screaming bloody murder, feeling the sizzle of agonizing fire against his nerves like nothing he’s ever felt before. He thrashed against the hands holding him down, blinded by the pain; lashing out, he felt something _break_ under his hand.

“Neil!” someone yelled at him. “Calm down!”

Neil scrambled away from the voice, from the roar of the flames, from the stench of his own flesh melting off, when a cold touch at the back of his neck made him stop dead in his place.

He blinked, panting, and saw Andrew’s face looking back at him. “Andrew?”

“You’re in Fox Tower,” Andrew said, voice level. “At Palmetto State University. Your name is Neil Josten. You’re okay.”

“I’m—I’m in Palmetto,” Neil realized, still breathing hard. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, could hardly distract himself from the pain setting his nerves on fire — literally. He squeezed his eyes shut, running his hands across his arms; feeling his skin, whole and bristling, under his touch. “I’m in Palmetto,” he said again, voice distant to his own ears. “My name is Neil Josten.” He exhaled slowly, shallowly. “I’m okay.”

When he opened his eyes, Andrew held his gaze for a few seconds, before letting go.

Neil looked after him as he walked out of the room, barely flinching when the door flung shut behind him with a heavy slam. His pain, receding, was slowly being replaced by almost overwhelming confusion. What the hell was going on?

That was when his eyes landed on Kevin, sitting on the lower bunk-bed opposite from him. He was cradling his hand to his chest, staring at him. “Kevin.”

“You okay?” Kevin asked, hesitant. Neil nodded, not quite trusting his verbal confirmation.

“What…” he swallowed, looking around him. Only now it was fully registering, where he was; at his new dorm, with his new roommates. His eyes turned back to the door, almost as if expecting Andrew to burst back in. “What happened?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Kevin said. “I think. You woke me and Andrew up.”

And probably the rest of the building, he didn’t say.

Neil slumped against the wall, all the energy draining out of him. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Do you always have nightmares like that?”

Did he? Neil side-eyed Kevin, thinking the question over. “Kind of,” he finally admitted. “But it’s never been…”

“This intense?” Kevin suggested. Neil nodded, slow and hesitant.

“Yeah,” he said. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “It felt so fucking real. Like I was actually dying.”

“I’d bet,” Kevin muttered. Neil was honestly too tired to think what _that_ was supposed to mean. Instead, he focused on his breathing.

When that has settled, he opened his eyes again and got up from the bed. “I need some air.”

Kevin was getting back into his bed, pulling his blanket all the way up to his chin. “Turn off the lights when on the way.”

Neil left the room, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind him. He stood in front of the staircase, briefly debating whether he’d rather go up or down; then, at a spare-of-the-moment decision, he climbed up.

He found the door to the roof unlocked. Good. He won’t have to pick it.

But when he stepped out into the chilly, late-night breeze, someone was already there. Neil instantly recognized him.

Normally, he would’ve just left and gone down instead to take a walk through the streets. But a sense of bitter curiosity seized him; Andrew’s been, unmistakably, in his dream. Tonight and every other night that he’s dreamed of him. It’d felt so real; there must be a reason, some kind of twisted reason, for why it was happening.

So he stepped forward and sat down next to Andrew on the ledge, recognizing the stench of cigarette smoke hanging in the air.

They sat there in silence, Andrew giving him no sign of acknowledgement, until he spoke up. “Go back to sleep, Neil.”

“Can’t,” Neil said.

Andrew breathed out a long streak of smoke, which danced up into dissipation in the air. Neil stared at it, unwillingly bristling. Andrew finished his cigarette, stubbed it against the concrete, and threw it off the roof before turning to him. “What do you want, Neil?”

“You were there,” he said. “In the church. While I was burning to death.”

Andrew was deathly still, eyes narrow as they fixated on his. “It was a dream.”

“It was,” admitted Neil. “But it didn’t feel like it.”

Andrew climbed to his feet. “You should forget about it,” he said, getting off of the ledge and starting to walk toward the roof’s door. “It wasn’t real.”

Neil looked after him, and, once he was gone, dropped his head with a sigh. Maybe he _was_ overthinking this. Probably just a stress reaction. Post trauma. Whatever was left from constantly running from his father; from the death of his mother.

“Just a dream,” he muttered to himself, overlooking the view outstretched before him. The night was quiet, but his own screams were still echoing in his ears. “It wasn’t real.”

***

Andrew practically sprinted down the stairs, willing Renee to answer his call. It dialed, dialed, dialed… then finally, her voice emanated from it, groggy and heavy with sleep. “Andrew?”

“Why does he remember?” he snapped.

She suddenly sounded a whole lot more awake. “That’s impossible.”

“He just told me of his _own_ death in Russia, 1941,” he growled, storming out of Fox Tower’s front entrance. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, breezing past the parking lot to his car.

“The church fire?” she asked, horrified. “He remembers _that_?”

“Like it just fucking happened,” he said. “Woke up screaming, broke Kevin’s hand.”

There was a pause, during which Andrew climbed into his car and turned on the engine. “That can’t be good.”

“No fucking shit.”

“You talked to Bee?”

“On my way,” Andrew said, pulling out of the parking lot. “You don’t know anything about it?”

“I know it shouldn’t be possible,” she said, worry in her voice. “If he remembers… It means something’s changed.”

“But nothing _has_ ,” Andrew said, voice rough. “He doesn’t even know who I am. Keeps saying I look fucking _familiar_.” He spat the word as if it were poisonous.

“And what did you tell him?”

“What do you think?” Andrew mockingly replied.

“Fair,” she said. “Do you want me to keep an eye on him, until you figure out what’s going on?”

“Yes,” said Andrew. “And—“

Renee waited.

“Don’t tell anyone else.”

“Copy,” she said. “But, Andrew, you know they’re going to find out eventually.”

“I can handle it,” Andrew said. “Until I find out what’s wrong, I don’t want them meddling.”

“It’s not just meddling, and you know it,” Renee gently said. “We’re trying to help you.”

“You can’t,” he said. “No one can.”

She sighed. “You keep thinking that.”

“I _know_ that,” Andrew said. “It doesn’t matter what he does, what I do, what any of you do, he will always die. And then he’ll come back just to die again.”

“And yet you keep trying to save him.”

Andrew fell quiet for a moment. “I’m trying to find out what went wrong this time.”

“Maybe because,” she suggested, “you’re looking for a loophole. And if there is? Will you save him?”

“You know I will,” he spat out.

“And we want to help you,” she said.

“Just keep them out of my way, Renee.”

She sighed. Giving her goodbye, she hang up.

Andrew threw his phone to the backseat and accelerated, paying no heed to the road signs. If things were different this time — if they were different, then this was his chance. His chance to fix it. To fix everything.

He drove, throwing all thoughts out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are spicing up! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and thank you for reading :D


	4. Chapter 3

Andrew found Neil sitting at the table farthest from the library’s entrance, head buried in a Latin book. Standing a few tables away, half-hidden by a tall bookshelf, he hasn’t yet noticed Andrew watching him; his glasses were halfway down his nose, brow creased in concentration as he absentmindedly chewed on the back of a pencil. There was this pinch to his mouth that told Andrew he was having trouble understanding something.

Andrew took a minute to just look. Take in the way the low yellow candlelight lit up the edges of his red hair; the structure of his cheekbones; his crooked posture, which can’t have possibly been comfortable. But they were all very Neil. Very familiar. Painfully real.

When Andrew finally gathered the courage to walk forth, Neil’s gaze snapped up as if by command, and a smile broke on his face. It was a bright smile, showing white teeth and lighting up his whole face in a way that almost made Andrew stop in his place. His blue eyes shone, fixed on him, having no idea who he was actually looking at — not really.

Never really.

“What are you studying?” Andrew said, gesturing his head at the book while he sat down on the vacant chair next to Neil.

“Latin idioms,” Neil said, his mouth curving down with distaste. “Awfully confusing. They’re horrible, really.”

Andrew leaned back in his chair to glance at the open page’s content, reading quickly. “What’s so wrong with them?”

“Too cheesy,” Neil said. “I mean, who even says these things?” He crinkled his nose, his voice lowering a whole octave as he mockingly read, “ _amor vincit omnia_. Who am I, Juliet? What do I need to know this?”

Andrew cocked his head, observing Neil’s face. He was looking back at him, his eyes actually inquiring, as if he were expecting Andrew to answer. “It motivates couples, I guess.”

“Good thing we don’t need motivation,” Neil said with a sigh, putting the book down on the table with the same page still open. “How come you’re already done?”

“I dismissed the class early,” Andrew said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Neil gave him a curious look, adjusting his posture so that his whole body was facing him, sitting sideways on the chair with one arm flung over the backrest. “What is it?”

Andrew looked from the book to him, suddenly not so sure of his plan. Frankly, it was probably a horrible idea, but he was practically at the end of his rope. “About us.”

Neil kept looking at him, as if saying, _go on_.

So Andrew swallowed his doubt and for once in his very long, tedious life, decided to trust himself. “I know it might sound crazy, but we know each other.”

Neil tilted his head in confusion. “I think I know that already.”

“No, I mean—“ Andrew halted, then gestured around him. “Before all this. Before Berlin.”

“I hate to tell you, Andrew, but I’ve never left Berlin.”

And then Andrew told him. He told him about their past, and the curse, and everything that came with it; and Neil sat there in silence, bright blue eyes hardening as he listened, and Andrew knew he believed him. His forehead creased, and his pencil was discarded, and he was leaning in as Andrew told him of first meetings and too-quick goodbyes. Andrew could see the moment he understood, and for a second, he almost grieved the way the lightheartedness seeped out of his features.

When he was done, they were both crying.

“We’ll figure it out,” Neil finally told him, so close that Andrew could make out the way he was biting the inside of his mouth. “I’m not going to die on you. I’m not done here, and neither are you.”

“We never are,” Andrew said. “But it never stops.”

“Hey, but it’s different now, right?” Neil gave him a small smile — so much smaller, more hesitant, more careful than the one he’d given him before, but just as genuine. And Andrew could feel a little piece of hope fluttering in his chest. “This time, I know. We’ve doubled our forces. We’ll get through this.”

And Andrew nodded, and let Neil kiss him, and kissed him back just as fiercely. Then he’d left Neil to continue his studies, and went on to plan the next lesson for the class he was teaching.

The next day, Neil was gone.

***

Andrew paced inside Bee’s office — a straight line from the door, along the sofa and to the kitchenette, and then back the same way. His brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tense; Bee’s gaze followed him from her place in the comfy chair standing across from the sofa, keeping quiet.

Until someone had to break the silence. “Andrew, I assume there’s a reason you came here in the middle of the night.”

Andrew halted, coincidentally right across from her comfy chair, and turned his eyes to her. “What if I told you, hypothetically, that Neil was having flashbacks?”

Bee leaned back in her comfy chair, a considering expression invading her features. “Hypothetically, it would be either a very good, or a very bad thing.”

Andrew flopped back onto the sofa, back hitting the cushions, and leveled his gaze at her. With the intensity of his glare, one would’ve thought he was furious. “Does it mean it’s over? Did I break the system?”

“It can’t be broken,” said Bee. “But, have you considered that it might just be an altered detail?”

“He never knew anything,” Andrew said. “Every single time, he had no idea who I was. Believe me, Bee, he _shouldn’t_ be remembering anything.”

“Then something’s changed,” she conceded.

Andrew leaned forward on the sofa, his elbows leaning against his knees and his hands clasping. “I need you to tell me this means I can fix this.”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said, a sympathetic curve to her mouth. “The only thing I can offer you is this: if something has changed this drastically, then there’s a reason for it. Find the reason, and you might’ve found yourself a loophole.”

“Isn’t there anything?” he insisted. “Nothing written, nothing passed down? Some explanation?”

Bee shook her head. “Honestly, Andrew, none of us know more about this curse than you do. After all, you’re the one who’s been living through it; you might be the only one capable of figuring this out. Except for Neil, if he really is remembering.”

Andrew shook his head. “I can’t let him find out.”

“But you said—“

“It was never _him_ to remember, before,” he interrupted. “I don’t know how it’s supposed to work out. For all I know, he believes those dreams are just that — dreams. But what I do know is that whenever I’d tried telling him about this,” he gestured around him, “then the next damn day, he’d be gone. I can’t tell him, Bee. I can’t let him find out. Not until—” his voice trailed off, and a few moments of silence lingered in the air between them. “Not until I figure out how to save him.”

“You might not be able to stop it,” she said, voice gentle.

Andrew leaned back and fell quiet, eyes locked on a paint-stain on the wall behind Bee’s chair. Then, a few minutes passed, he stood up, stretched cracks out of his neck, and turned to leave.

By the door, hand hovering over the knob, he paused. “I’m sick of this, Bee. I don’t know if I can do this again.”

Having his back to her, he didn’t see the way she looked at him. There was sadness held in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, those meant for laughing; her forehead was crinkled not from worry, but from a special kind of weariness. She wasn’t a part of this — nobody, except for Andrew and Neil, really was, no matter what they’d tried telling themselves — but she hurt for them nonetheless.

But she said nothing.

So when Andrew left, shutting the door behind him, she could do nothing but let out a long sigh. She heard the distant roar of an engine coming to life; and when it had faded away, she was still sitting in the same place, those same wrinkles decorating her face.

***

Neil opened his eyes at the beeping of Kevin’s alarm clock, and stared at the ceiling.

After Andrew’s departure, he’d stayed on the roof for who-knew how long, smoking a pack of his own. He hadn’t tried fooling himself about going back to sleep, not tonight; so he’d crept back into his new bedroom about half an hour ago and curled up in bed, closing his eyes and just trying to keep breathing properly.

He waited five minutes, then pulled himself out of bed and proceeded to go through his morning routine like a zombie. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he cringed not only at the scars on his cheeks, but also at the deep dark circles under his eyes. He put in his boring brown contacts, brushed back his boring brown hair, and wondered, not for the first time, if clinging onto this complexion meant he was fucked up in the head.

“Probably,” he muttered to himself, spitting out the toothpaste. He just didn’t want to come across his father’s face in any reflections anytime soon. Or ever. Never sounded better.

When he emerged out of the bathroom, he was greeted with a pair of exy snickers hitting him in the face. He recoiled, eyes searching the room to find Kevin’s sheepish gaze. “What the hell?”

“You were supposed to catch it,” Kevin defensively said. “You need to be more attentive.”

Neil feigned looking around himself in great confusion. “This is a really fucking weird design for an exy court.”

“Just take the damn shoes,” Kevin said, throwing his bag over his shoulder and heading for the door. “Come on, or we’ll be late for practice.”

Neil scowled at his back as he picked up the shoes, throwing them in his duffle bag before following him. Andrew, as it turned out, never came back, and Neil found himself wondering where he was and what he’s been doing as he locked the door behind him.

And it wasn’t just Andrew who was missing; his car was gone from the parking lot, as well. That meant that Neil, Kevin, Aaron and Nicky had to squeeze into Matt’s truck alongside him and the three girls, which made everyone scowl at each other. Except for Matt, who only had eyes for the road, and Renee, who smiled her usual pleasant smile.

She made eye contact with Neil, and before Neil could find a way to fling himself out of the vehicle to avoid conversation — he was as far as it came from being in the mood for it — she spoke. “How are you doing, Neil?”

Neil strained a smile and didn’t miss the way everyone looked to him. When he quirked an eyebrow, everyone except Renee found fascinating spots around them to inspect.

“I’m fine,” he dryly said.

“Did you sleep okay?” asked Dan.

“I slept fine.”

“You didn’t, by any chance, spend the night chain-smoking on the roof or anything?”

Neil looked to Allison and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. She smiled unapologetically and shrugged. “You reek of it. And Matt saw you on his morning run.”

“Matt does morning runs?”

“Only when the sun is friendly,” Matt called out from the front seat. “You sure you’re alright, Neil?”

“I’m _fine_.”

“You shouldn’t be smoking at all,” Kevin half-hazaredly noted. “It’s bad for your health.”

“Shoes nailing me in the face is also bad for my health, but I don’t see you complaining about that,” Neil shot back. 

“At least he wasn’t drinking up there,” said Nicky. “Because _that_ would really be a health hazard.”

Allison frowned. “Don’t give him ideas.”

“Okay, guys," Neil said, “I don’t know what happened to your previous members to make you all so concerned about me, but I’m _fine_.” He put a hand over his heart. “Really.”

“Yeah, okay, we believe you,” said Allison, solemnly nodding. Dan rolled her eyes.

“We’re just concerned for our newest member,” said Nicky. “You’re our star player, after all.”

“Yeah, we can’t have you dying from lung cancer before championships,” Kevin said.

“But after that it’s alright?” asked Neil.

“Only if we win,” laughed Matt from the front seat. “Otherwise Kevin will raise you from the dead so that we’d have a chance next year.”

And then an awkward silence fell in the truck. Allison scratched the back of her neck. Nicky inclined his head. Dan bit her lips, while Kevin started tapping an obscure rhythm against the back of the truck.

“Okay, we’re here,” Matt said after five minutes of _that_. “Everybody, get the hell out of my truck.”

They piled outside. Neil was the last to leave, pulling his duffle after him and flinging it over his shoulder as he slammed the door shut behind him. Matt jumped out of the driver seat, locked the vehicle, and fell into step beside Neil as that started advancing toward the court.

“Sorry we’re being so weird,” Matt said when he realized Neil wasn’t going to initiate conversation. Neil inclined his head. “We’re just getting used to you.”

“It’s fine,” he said. He kicked a stray pebble. “I guess I’m getting used to you all too.”

“From your life on the run?” Matt carefully asked.

Yeah, he’d never get used to people knowing all about him. “Yeah,” he said. “I haven’t exactly been planning on doing college.”

“It’s less complicated than you think,” Matt said, nudging him friendlily. “We’ll help you through it.”

They were about to pass into the court when someone grabbed Neil by the sleeve and pulled him back. It was only years of practice, willpower and a smidge of pure luck that kept Neil from calling out in surprise.

“Andrew, leave him alone,” Matt vehemently said.

“Mind your own business, Boyd,” Andrew snapped back. His eyes landed on Neil, who looked between the two of them with a slight frown.

“Go ahead,” he finally told Matt, a tinge of uncertainty to his voice. “I’ll be right up.”

Matt looked like he was about to object, but Andrew gave him such a glare that he stepped back, before turning around and walking into the court. The two of them were left completely alone in a vacant parking lot.

Andrew didn’t waste time pushing Neil against the side of his car, which has apparently been parked right there. Neil opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Andrew started riffling through his hair.

Neil let out a weak squeak instead. “Wh— _What_ are you doing?”

Andrew stopped his riffling to look at him right in the eyes. His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing ever so slightly; then, without warning, he leaned in so close that the tips of their noses almost touched. “You’re wearing contact lenses.”

Neil pulled back. “What do you care?”

“And what’s with the hair?” Andrew said instead of answering, tugging at a brown and dry lock of hair. Neil smacked his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong with my hair.”

“It’s the wrong color,” Andrew noted, craning his neck to get a better look at it. If Neil hadn’t been so confused, he would’ve found it funny — the way he almost tiptoed to inspect, like a kid trying to reach a counter. Never has he ever felt _tall_ before. “Were you born with it like that?”

“I just happen to like brown better than what I had to work with,” Neil warily replied.

“Does it count as a change?” Andrew muttered to himself, thoughtfully putting a hand over his mouth. “No, that wouldn’t even be ironically funny.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Neil said, pushing Andrew away. Andrew caught his wrist, making him freeze.

“Are you still hiding from someone?” Andrew asked, voice level. Neil felt his face going slack, and he tugged his hand back to himself. Andrew easily let him go. “Your father’s dead already, isn’t he?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It looks worse on you,” Andrew said with slight disdain. “Blander than red.”

Neil recoiled as if shot by lightning, and this time, when he pushed Andrew away, that stumbled a few steps back. “Stop talking about things you don’t understand,” he snapped. “You don’t get to have an opinion about this.”

“Your roots are showing,” Andrew called after him as he stalked toward the court; Neil hastened his pace in response. “Either cover it up or get rid of the dye.”

“Go screw yourself!” Neil yelled over his shoulder, storming inside.

He stopped dead in his tracks when several pairs of eyes landed on him upon his entrance — including that of his new coach, who quirked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve met Andrew.”

“He’s just a peachy guy,” Neil impatiently replied. “Someone, give me a racket and something to throw those damn balls at.”

“It’s good to see some spirit, for once,” Wymack said. “Tell Andrew to move his ass in here so we can start.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared, Coach,” Andrew said from where he’d practically materialized by the door, half-hazaredly leaning against it with his arms crossed. Neil jerked away, shooting the blond a scalding glare; Andrew returned him a smile, perfectly void.

Wymack let out a long and weary sigh, and shooed them all away to start their practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I'm about to update this story, my internet give out on me :( Why don't you love me, internet??  
> Anyhow I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! Thank you as always for reading <3


	5. Chapter 4

Andrew dropped a pile of files on the table, pulling a chair out to take his seat.

The library of Palmetto State University was quite empty this time of day, but he still claimed a distant corner in it, putting extra-care into exerting an intimidating aura so that everybody would stay away.

Then, he got to work, reading and sorting through countless accounts of countless people. The common thing between them was that they all bore either a description or a picture — different ages, different hair and eye colors, but the same familiar features — of Neil Josten.

Neil Josten had a dozen names and a dozen personalities; originally Nathanial Wesninski, he was the only son of a businessman who had doubled in the mafia. Eight years on the run, plenty of I.D’s to later be confiscated by the government and a mother dug up from a beach in California, later to be buried again. His childhood, if you could call it that, was flooded with lots of death and violence. Now, his face was scarred on both sides.

But Andrew already knew all that. It’s been public enough that most people who saw Neil nowadays would vaguely recognize him, if not outright remember him. No, Andrew wasn’t looking for the dark and dirty secrets of Neil’s past.

He was looking for details.

The people he pretended to be, the places where he used to go to school, the countries he’d stepped foot on. Andrew eventually found himself carefully going over the transcripts of Nathan’s second trial — the one that had landed him in prison for life, no matter that he’d been shot in his cell a week later. Neil had been a key witness in the trial, and its consequences — positive for the authorities, negative for Nathan and his associates — were the only reason Neil was still a free man, himself.

Andrew’s eyes darted over the sentences, before pausing over a familiar name.

He blinked a couple of time, going back to reread from the beginning of the paragraph. He then finished reading the transcript, put the file down, leaned back in his chair and lifted his head to look at the ceiling.

A minute later, he swore.

***

Neil was on his way to the library when someone stormed out of there and bumped right into him.

A flurry of papers flew all around them as he stumbled back, opening his mouth to snap at whomever it was to watch where they were going — and promptly stilled.

Andrew didn’t even acknowledge him. He gathered his papers, shoved them in his bag, and took off out of the building. By the time Neil’s head started working again, he was gone.

Neil looked back to the library’s entrance, noticing a single, forgotten sheet. He crouched, picked it up and turned it over, only to do a double take. A mugshot of his own face, around a year younger and patched with bandages, looked back at him. Next to it was a written physical description, along with a bunch of his personal information and his charges. It was from before they’d cleared him.

He frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the building’s exit.

He got up, shoved the paper in his own backpack, and stalked into the library. He found his way to the psychology section and started browsing it for books about sleep, or maybe about dreaming; he didn’t know where to start, exactly, but he knew he couldn’t just leave the matter be. A part of him was a little concerned about the hyper-vivid quality of that church fire; he was afraid, irrationally, that next time he’d have a dream like that, he might actually not wake up.

He figured that if he could trace these dreams to their source, he might be able to make them stop. He didn’t know how long he could go on having them; going to sleep was starting to get scary, and waking up exhausted him. And it wouldn’t be long before people started noticing — at the very least, it would be affecting his game. And Andrew’s on the team. He’d undoubtedly notice.

Neil thought back to the rooftop conversation they’d had last night, and then to that — whatever that was — this morning. He let out a heavy sigh, massaging away his frown; Andrew was crazy, and Neil’s subconsciousness must be latching a face onto the notion in his dreams. He must’ve simply seen his face in the news, or in a sports magazine, or maybe even randomly on the street without remembering.

Anyway, it was better than dreaming about his father.

He’ll find the answer somewhere in here, he thought, dumping a bunch of books on a random empty table. He dropped into a seat, letting his backpack fall into another, and pulled the closest book toward himself.

With another sigh he opened it, and started reading.

Some time has passed when somebody pulled the chair opposite him and sat down. Neil lifted his eyes to see a smiling blonde girl, leaning forward against the table. “Neil, right?”

“Do I know you?” he said, racking his brain for any recollection of her.

“I guess not,” she said. “I’m Katelyn. Aaron’s girlfriend.” She pointed a few tables back, at where Aaron was sitting, nose buried in a textbook. “I saw you, and thought I should come say hello. What are you doing here all alone?”

Neil looked between his books, and then back to her. “It’s for a class.”

She bent her neck to read one of the titles upside-down. “Psychology of dreaming?”

“I’ve got this — problem,” he said, hesitant. “I mean, not _me —_ a problem in the class, I guess.”

“What is it? I’ve taken a psychology class once,” she said. “I might be able to help you.”

He leaned back, phrasing and rephrasing in his head before speaking. “You know when you have these kind of dreams that you really want to stop having, but can’t shake off? That kind of problem.”

“Have you tried looking into lucid dreaming?” she suggested. At his inquiring look, she said, “it’s when you’re aware you’re dreaming, and can influence what’s happening — make yourself dream about whatever.”

“Haven’t heard of that, actually,” he said. “It works?”

She made a so-so gesture. “It’s tricky, I guess. It only works once you’ve realized that you’re dreaming, which is the hard part.”

“But it’s possible.”

“I mean, yeah, people do it all the time,” she said, shrugging. “I’ve personally never tried it, but it sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it?” She smiled. “You can fly, meet your favorite celebrities, do everything you’ve ever dreamed of doing. Literally.”

“Yeah,” Neil said, his voice contemplative. He looked between the books strewn around the table again. It was worth trying, wasn’t it? “I’ll look into it.”

Her smile brightened, and she got up from her seat. “I’ve got to get back to studying, but don’t be a stranger, okay? Even if Aaron tries to scare you off.”

Neil snorted. “Yeah, that’s not going to be a problem. But thanks.”

“I’m glad I could help,” she said. And then she walked back to her table and went on studying. Neil, on his part, fulfilled his word and looked up the topic; when night fell, he collected his things and left the library.

When he went to sleep that night, he went relatively jittery, but with a smidge of hopefulness.

***

Neil stretched lazily, yawning excessively as he stalked into the kitchen of the mansion. The cook spared him half a glance before turning her attention back to cutting onions; a maid was washing the dishes, while another was scrubbing the floor. He flashed them both a charming smile, and they both blushed and looked away, a hitch in their movements.

“Leave the poor girls be,” a voice whispered in his ear, and he bristled. He tilted his head to the side, catching from the corner of his eye Andrew’s figure standing behind him.

“I’m just being polite,” he said, leaning his side against a table. His palm loosely held the edge of it. “They must be awfully lonely in here, working all day, with no one to talk to but the pots and the vegetables.”

“Working for whom, I wonder,” said Andrew. Neil huffed amusedly.

“Did you come here just to criticize me?” he asked, still observing the working women. “Because if so, I don’t need you here.”

“Keep telling that to yourself,” Andrew told him, pulling him back out of the kitchen.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he said, struggling to break out of his hold. “I’m hungry! I haven’t had breakfast yet!”

“You can have it when it’s ready, like a normal person,” Andrew said, “instead of eating all the ingredients and then complaining when the food is missing parts.”

“Help, I’m being taken against my will!” he exclaimed as they passed by a maid dusting a mantlepiece, earning an eye-roll and not much else. “I’m a hostage in my own home!”

“What a shame,” Andrew flatly said.

“Starving!” Neil exclaimed. “Famished! Only to be cruelly deprived of a proper breakfast by the evil deeds of yourself, young mister!”

“I will feed you the the wolves if you don’t stop talking,” Andrew threatened. Neil chuckled, momentarily dropping his act of despair. Not that it was convincing anyone, anyway.

“I do hope you know what you’re doing,” he said when they passed a butler arranging plates on a table. When Neil advanced toward it, Andrew pulled him away once again. “I’m afraid that I’m doomed to perish without breakfast, Andrew.”

“Sure you are,” Andrew said. Neil rolled his eyes, letting himself be ushered onward; they passed different halls and a whole selection of working maids and butlers, before finally breaking out into the garden behind the mansion.

“A morning stroll?” Neil suggestively said, drawn toward the fresh scent of dew and flowers. “The air is quite refreshing today.”

“It is,” Andrew agreed, falling into step beside him. Neil seemed to have forgotten about his precious breakfast, walking along the cobbled path, taken in by the sculpted bushes and the colorful flower patches. It was the height of spring, and everything was blooming.

They reached the small square that was stationed in the center of the garden, surrounded by tall, full-branched trees that grew inward to provide a dome of sorts. In the middle of the square stood a table, two sets of cutlery laid out on it and two chairs standing by it, opposite each other.

Neil turned intrigued eyes to Andrew, who looked back unblinkingly. They held each-other’s gazes, before Neil tilted his head and looked back to the table. “You know no one can find us doing this.”

“No one will, in here,” Andrew said. He stepped forward, pulling out a chair for Neil; Neil, like the little princess he was, contently sat down on it. Andrew claimed the other chair, pulling a woven basket that’s missed Neil’s notice from under the table.

“That’s cute,” Neil said, only half mockingly. Andrew gave him a look, before starting to empty the basket’s contents onto the table. A few sandwiches, a carefully decorated cheese cake, a bottle of expensive champagne. Neil found himself smiling, and it wasn’t just because he was finally getting his breakfast.

Andrew quickly arranged everything, put the basket back where it came from, and leaned forward with the bottle outstretched. “To your stupid country.”

Neil let out a mock gasp. “Don’t let anyone hear you,” he said, voice lowering. “I hear they’re really patriotic around here.”

“I’ll make sure to bribe the trees not to disclose my secrets,” Andrew assured him, and popped the bottle open.

Neil laughed, pulling away from the fountain of foam as it came flooding up from the bottle. Andrew poured him a glass and then himself, and Neil outstretched a hand to take it, a mirthful smile tugging at his lips.

That was when a feminine voice suddenly reached them, cold and definitive. “Nathaniel, what do you think you’re doing?”

His hand stopped halfway to the glass, all the mirth instantly evaporating from his expression. “Mother,” he said, not turning to look behind him. He didn’t look at Andrew, either.

There was a tap-tap-tap as the lady approached them, and even though he hasn’t yet turned to look at her, Neil could sense the way she was glaring daggers at him. Angry. Disapproving. Disappointed.

“You should be inside,” she said, her voice high and looming from over his head. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten about the breakfast I've arranged with the baroness, but it doesn’t mean you can miss it. Her daughter is to join us today.”

“She’s dull,” Neil dismissively said. “I don’t want to dine with them.”

“Tough luck,” she snapped, coming around into his field of vision. “Next time you force me to come looking for you, I won’t have a choice but to confine you to the upper wing.”

“Confine me, don’t confine me,” Neil lifted cold eyes to her, meeting an equally cold gaze. “I really don’t care, Mother.”

“Come along, Nathaniel,” she said. “Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

Neil waited until she began walking back the way she came, and then, finally, looked at Andrew. Andrew was watching him, something indiscernible in his eyes; but Neil didn’t have time to try and figure it out. “I’m sorry, Andrew,” he said, and got up from the chair. “We’ll have breakfast another day.”

Neil carefully shut the door behind him, making sure it made no noise, and tiptoed in his socks down the staff-staircase. Underneath his thick, expensive coat, he was wearing his pajamas; silky and awfully thin, considering the extravagant duvet he had to sleep with. Normally, he didn’t mind that. When he had to sneak out of his house to make out with his boyfriend in the middle of a European January night — well, that was a different story.

He managed to get out of the mansion without anyone noticing him. He made it three feet away from its premises when somebody grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him behind a pillar; he yelped, flailed, and promptly turned to throw a punch before a familiar hazel gaze met his own.

“For heaven’s sake, Andrew!” Neil breathed out, lowering his hand. “Give me a little warning next time!”

“Get down from the clouds next time,” Andrew replied, earning Neil’s eyeroll. There was a distinctive rustle of leaves; the two of them fell silent, and Neil looked to the sides, before glancing back at the mansion he’d abandoned.

“We should go somewhere else,” he said, turning his eyes back to Andrew. “Someone might notice us out here.”

“We could go to my place,” Andrew suggested. Neil’s expression brightened.

“We could,” he said. Then a little frown invaded his face. “But I don’t know where you live.”

“You learn something new every day,” Andrew said, and pulled Neil after him. They walked the vast, empty distance from the mansion to the city relatively quickly, under the guidance of the dark; the rustle of nature gradually transformed into the low hum of late-night activities, people occasionally passing by without sparing them a glance.

Neil liked the city. He didn’t get to go here very often.

“We’re just around the—“ Andrew said, before Neil suddenly pulled him into a nearby alleyway, narrow and dark and humid, and put a finger on his lips.

“Mother,” he mouthed, and Andrew’s brow furrowed in confusion. Neil glanced out into the street, looking its length forward and back, before his shoulders relaxed. “Okay, they’re gone.”

“They?”

“A couple of my mother’s guards,” he said, his mouth curling in distaste. “I don’t think they know I’m gone, but I don’t want to risk it. They’d drag me back the moment they see me, that’s for sure.”

“In that case, we need to make sure they don’t see you,” Andrew said.

“Yeah, I figured,” Neil playfully retorted. He glanced out into the street again, talking over his shoulder. “Where did you say you live again?”

“A block away,” Andrew said. “We’re almost there.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard, then.”

Alas, the next time they needed to turn a corner, they saw the same guards standing in the street, leaning against a building and leisurely smoking.

“You got another way to get there?” Neil asked Andrew, who in response pulled him back the way they’d come. They went around the block, Andrew’s building coming into view — when a gruff voice called out behind them.

“Nathaniel!”

“Faster,” Neil told Andrew, dropping his head and hastening his step after the blond. “Faster, faster, they don’t know it’s me yet.”

“You see other Nathaniels waltzing around here?”

“Okay, change of plan,” Neil said, pulling Andrew into a different street, away from the building.

“We run?”

“We run.”

They ran. Neil relished in the beat of the pavement against his soles; adrenaline pumped in his veins; his fingers were entangled with Andrew’s, dragging him after himself. They went this and that way, trying to throw the guards off their trail.

They broke out into a new street and promptly froze in their places.

“Nathaniel,” said his mother, careful and even. His fingers slackened, Andrew’s hand slipping away. Then he straightened, pulled his shoulders back and his neck high, and looked his mother in the eye.

She sighed, momentarily closing her eyes. “You must realize you’re acting childishly.”

“And you’re being ridiculous,” Neil snapped back. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Mother. You can’t keep dictating my every move.”

“Act like an adult, then,” his mother replied, tone just venomous. “You have responsibilities, Nathaniel. If not to me, then to your country. This must end.”

Neil glowered at her, and stepped away. “I’m not coming home, Mother.”

“Nathaniel,” she said.

“Not tonight.” He grabbed Andrew’s hand again, and stepped farther away from her. She stood, alone in the empty street, and measured him. She didn’t even look disappointed anymore. “I’ll come back in the morning, Mother. Don’t try to stop me.”

“This will have consequences,” she called after him.

“Do I look like I care?”

His mother didn’t reply. His hand held Andrew’s way too firmly as they retreated, disappearing from view. It was only once they saw Andrew’s building again that Neil managed to let go of him.

They climbed up to Andrew’s apartment, and Neil fell onto his sofa with a heavy _thud_ , throwing an arm over his eyes as Andrew locked the door behind him. “I hate my life, Andrew.”

“All of it?” Andrew said, approaching him. “Scoot over.”

Neil complied, pressing himself against the corner between the sofa and its back, whereas Andrew lied down next to him. They lied there in a brief, uncomfortable silence before switching places, so that Neil was pressed against Andrew instead, taking in his warmth.

“Maybe not all of it,” he said. “You’re kind of alright.”

“I’m fluttered.”

“The rest is garbage, though,” Neil said with a scowl. “I hate it. I wish we could run away or something. Or—“ he huffed a laugh and pulled Andrew’s arm closer to himself, hugging it like a teddy bear. “I wish I could live a different life altogether, only with you in it.”

Andrew was quiet for a few moments, his breathing steady against Neil. “You’re clingy.”

“I’m cold,” he said. “And you’re warm. Like a fire.”

“If I were as warm as a fire, you’d be burned already.”

“I _am_ burned,” Neil cheekily replied. “Ruined. Destroyed. Never to be restored.”

Andrew sighed. “Why are you so dramatic?”

“It must be because I’m French.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s because you’re _French_.”

“You’re not French. You don’t get it.”

They felt silent again, their breathing the only sound filling up the room.

“Andrew,” Neil said.

“Mm?”

Neil twisted himself so that he was looking up at Andrew. “I want you to kiss me.”

Andrew looked down at him.

And he kissed him.

Neil pushed up the window, stepping back as Andrew pulled himself into his chambers. “How on earth did you manage to get up here?”

Andrew glanced up at him, before turning back and shutting the window. “I climbed.”

“You climbed, all that way.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, whatever,” Neil said, giving up. “The important thing here is that you’re here, and I’m here, and we can get started.”

“You make it all sound so tedious,” Andrew blandly said, stalking toward the center of the massive room. “Like you don’t want me to be here again.”

And then it was like a switch being pulled, and Neil suddenly realized he was dreaming. His instinct called for him to stop, to look around, to take in the hazy quality of his own bedroom — not _his_ bedroom, his bedroom was in Palmetto, he’s never been here before — but his body didn’t obey. He walked after Andrew, then bypassed him and sat down on the edge of the massive, curtained, adorned bed.

“You know I always want you here,” he found himself saying, and his voice came out sincere, and his eyes were fixed on Andrew.

Then they were kissing, the space between moments cut down upon in the way of dreams. Neil found that his back was pressed against the fluffy duvet, shoulder-blades stabbing against the mattress, his head resting against the soft pillow; Andrew was on top of him, kissing him roughly. Despite what the bewildered logical part of his mind was saying, Neil wasn’t exactly _objecting_. It didn’t feel wrong.

It felt very far away from that, somehow.

And somehow yet, he didn’t want it to stop.

But then it did, and he and Andrew were suddenly frozen in their places as the door to Neil’s room swung open, and a very collected, tall lady who Neil knew to be his mother — not _his_ mother, his mother was bones and ashes — stormed in.

They looked at each other for a long moment, Neil’s face red more from creeping anger than any shame — he wasn’t ashamed — and suddenly there was yelling.

“Nathaniel, _what_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Neil yelled back, shifting as Andrew’s weight disappeared, and they both scrambled to stand up. Andrew was quiet like he was always quiet, for some reason not getting involved; Neil wasn’t sure whether he was upset or relieved about that.

“That’s it,” his mother said, stepping forward. Her furious blue eyes turned to Andrew. “You’re no longer welcome in our home, Mr. Minyard. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Mother—“

“ _Immediately_ ,” she snapped.

“Ma’am,” Andrew started, but she lifted a palm up, lips pressed into a thin, white line.

“I don’t want to hear it. I want you gone. And you,” she said, now turning to Neil. Her face was as red as his. “Can no longer do whatever you wish.”

“Whatever I _wish_?” he exclaimed. “You’ve never let me—“

“ _Quiet_ ,” she snapped. “You’re not to interrupt me, Nathaniel.”

He leveled her a scorching glower.

“You’re going to stop these childish endeavors,” she said, slow and pronounced. “I won’t let you wander wherever and with whomever you see fit, because clearly your judgement is skewed.” She turned to Andrew again. “And I see you’re still here.”

Before Andrew could say or do anything, Neil stepped forward, protectively stretching an arm in front of him. “He’s not going anywhere, Mother.”

“I’m afraid he is,” she said. Neil was quiet for a moment, then looked back to Andrew, who gave him a minute shake of the head. _Screw that_ , Neil thought. And then he thought, _why am I thinking that? This is just a—_ “If he leaves, then so do I.”

“Nathaniel,” his mother impatiently said. “Stop throwing a tantrum. You’re no longer a child.”

“I’m not,” he said. How many times has he argued this point to her, and _now_ she chose to acknowledge it? He grabbed Andrew’s sleeve and pulled him after himself, walking right by his mother and out of the room. “You can’t keep me here by force, Mother.”

“Nathaniel!”

Neil let go of Andrew and approached the staircase, and suddenly, he could see what was going to happen with disconcerting clarity — not him here, but him who was dreaming, who was somehow already familiar with it all despite having never experienced it before.

_Change,_ he pleaded of his mind, desperate. _Become Las Vegas. Or an exy court. I want to go back to Palmetto, and grab a racket and win the championships. Come on._ He knew he was dreaming, but whatever Katelyn has told him wasn’t _working_ , because everything kept going smoothly like a film playing inside his own head.

Instead of a scenery change, a sudden, intense headache split his head, and he would’ve collapsed right there had his body not been caught in whatever was playing out here.

“Stop,” Andrew whispered to him, holding him back. But Neil was too frantic to listen, miles above pissed off, and he vehemently shook his head. In his periphery, he saw his mother approaching.

His mother then grabbed his arm, fingers latching tight like a pair of tongs. “Nathaniel—“

“Let go of me!” he yelled, violently shaking her off, and stumbled back. “I’m done with—“

And then his foot slipped on the top step, and his eyes widened. They met Andrew’s, and he saw the exact moment they filled with dread, like clouds closing in on the last bit of blue sky before a storm; his arm shot out reflexively, and Andrew lurched forward to grab him.

Their fingers brushed, and then Neil tumbled down the steps to the sound of his name leaving Andrew’s mouth, somehow louder than his mother's shrill scream piercing the air.

_Change,_ he frantically thought, trying to will it to happen. _Please, I don’t want to die again. Change. Please._

His headache intensified so much that he would’ve passed out, but he didn’t; now, instead of changing, everything slowed down.

He wasn’t sure what snapped first — his back or his neck, or maybe it happened at the same time. Maybe it didn’t matter at all, because he felt them both; for a brief moment, all thoughts trickled out of his mind — of both him, and him who was dreaming.

Then everything collapsed into black, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you as always for reading <3


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for description of sleep paralysis -- if it bothers you, you can skip to the first scene break (when there's: ***).  
> Note that there may be inaccuracies, since I haven't experienced it myself and have asked google. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the chapter :)

When Neil woke up, he immediately felt someone looking at him, lurking in his periphery.

It wasn’t Kevin. It wasn’t Andrew. Odd as that might sound, it didn’t _feel_ like them. When Neil tried to get up and look — and, potentially, get away — he found that he couldn’t move.

_Don’t panic_ , he thought, trying to keep his breathing level while staring at the ceiling. He kept track of the presence in his periphery, not seeing it, but unable to ignore it either. _Don’t panic. There’s nothing there_.

The presence shifted, detaching itself from the shadows. Neil’s eyes tracked it until it came to a halt at the end of his bed, and when Neil recognized him, he couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t before.

Red hair and cruel blue eyes looked down at him, the familiar face that had terrorized his waking life now observing him. Being completely expressionless, the gesture was hauntingly reminiscent of when Neil had been little and his father had been about to get down to business; with him, with other people, it didn’t matter. It was always the same.

Neil tried to scramble back, or, at the very least, call for help — but he couldn’t even twitch. Couldn’t open his mouth. Couldn’t turn his head. His eyes, though, worked well enough for him to not be able to tear his eyes off of the ghost of his father.

_He’s dead,_ he thought to himself, trying to will the thought into existence. _He’s dead. He's dead. He can’t—_

His head drained of all coherent thought as his eyes tracked his father, who was slowly — leisurely, almost — starting to go around the bed. His hand braced the mattress,and Neil could feel the way it slightly gave at the touch, however faint it was. With every step, Neil’s breath hitched. His jaw was clenched shut. His teeth didn’t even grind, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move them.

He was going to die. He knew that. There was no escaping; and when it came to his father, who’d hated him as much as he had, and whose hands had been slippery with blood, there were no easy ways out. He was going to die, and he wasn’t even going to be able to fight against it.

Nathan Wesninski came to a stop next to the bed, aligned with Neil’s chest. His hand, slightly outstretched, clutched the edge of the mattress right next to his neck, igniting his nerves with the phantom sensation of fingers curling around his throat.

He wasn’t touching him, not yet. Neil knew that because he couldn’t tear his eyes off of that hand.

But he was _so close_.

And then, right when Neil thought that Nathan was going to grab him or his own heart might give out, he could suddenly move again.

He instinctively jerked as far away from Nathan as he could, which resulted in him crashing onto the floor on the other end of the bed, his pillow tumbling down with him in his haste. He scrambled away, his back hitting something that his panic didn’t allow him to distinguish; his eyes darted around the room, first at where his father’s just stood and then to the shadows, before fixating on the bed once again.

His breathing was out of control, his blood was pounding in his temples, and he suddenly grew incredibly cold; shivers ran through his spine, up his neck and to the bases of his ears, before lacing back down again. There was no one there. There was no one there. He was alive, and his father was still _dead_.

Instead of relief, an overwhelming sense of nausea gripped him. He was up in a flurry, and hardly made it to the bathroom before starting to violently retch.

He didn’t know how much time has passed before he could properly breathe again, his heartbeat finally slowing down. He was slumped on his knees in front of the toilet, haze clouding his vision and spit drooling from the corner of his mouth onto the lid.

When he came back to himself, it was just short of the break of dawn. Unable to go back to bed yet again — and, frankly, deeming it pointless at this hour — he cleaned up after himself, grabbed his running snickers, and went out to clear his head.

After tonight, it would need a very thorough scrubbing if he wanted to function today.

***

_Earlier That Night, at a Gas Station Near Palmetto State University_

Andrew leaned against the hood of his car, hawk-eyes fixed on the road. He didn’t bother straightening when a black SUV pulled in; the grumble of the engine was cut off, and then somebody, who was very much _not_ the person Andrew’s been waiting for, came out of it.

Andrew’s expression shifted from blankly bored to blankly agitated. “What are you doing here?”

Jean Moreau scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Riko sent me here to tell you to fuck off.”

“And he couldn’t do that himself,” Andrew dryly said.

“I don’t think he’d like to talk to you ever again,” Jean said. “He says his clavicle hurts every time he thinks of you.”

“He didn’t get over ’03?” Andrew practically sneered. “It’s been a century already.”

Jean spread his arms in a _what do you want me to do?_ gesture. “You know he likes his grudges.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew dismissively said, pushing himself away from the car to approach Jean. Jean gave him a cautious look, but didn’t move. “I need information.”

“Is it that time of the decade again?” Jean said, his half-smile dissipating in light of Andrew’s unappreciative glare. “Okay, okay, what is it?”

Andrew pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket, shoving it in Jean’s face. “I want to know what business the Moriyamas had with Neil’s family.”

Jean grabbed the paper and skimmed over it, before lifting his eyes back to him. “Believe it or not, Nathan Wesninski’s been working for them long before Neil was even born.”

“Impossible,” Andrew instantly replied. “There are no coincidences.”

“This time, it is,” said Jean, handing the paper back to him. “I don’t have any information to disclose.”

“You see,” Andrew said, voice sounding contemplative. And then he lashed out, throwing Jean against the side of SUV and pressing a forearm to his throat. His voice lowered when he hissed, “I don’t believe you.”

Jean tried to wrestle out of his hold, but Andrew only pressed harder until he heard wheezes coming out. “If you expect me to honestly believe the Moriyamas aren’t involved,” Andrew said, a hint of danger in his voice, “then you must really think I’m an idiot, don’t you? I want to know what they’ve done.”

“ _What_?” Jean wheezed out, pulling at Andrew’s forearm. Andrew eased the pressure enough for him to coherently talk. “They didn’t do anything, you crazy asshole. You _know_ none of us can inter—“

Andrew slammed him against the car again. “Must I remind you of ’03? I believe you’ve recalled it perfectly well not five minutes ago.”

“It was _different_ ,” insisted Jean. “He isn’t — wait.” He went solemnly quiet. “Did he die already?”

Andrew glowered at him. “He didn’t die, you moron.”

“Then I don’t get it,” said Jean. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I don’t like your lot going around behind my back messing shit up,” Andrew said. “I want to know how they could’ve possibly found Neil before I had.”

“You’re going to have to ask _them_ ,” Jean said, finally freeing himself of Andrew’s hold. Andrew, on his part, didn’t lash out again. “I’m not one of them, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Close enough,” Andrew gritted out. Jean stepped away, opening the door of the SUV. He paused before climbing inside, measuring Andrew up and down.

“Whatever it is, I’d advise you not to waste your time digging into it,” he finally said. Before Andrew could open his mouth, he hurried to add, “just spend it with him, while you still can.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Andrew said. Jean gave him a sad look.

“Just because no one else is experiencing the exact same thing doesn’t mean none of us can relate,” he said. “At least you know you’d get him back, some day.”

Andrew remained silent as Jean shut the SUV’s door and turned on the engine. He drove out of the gas station, and before long, he was gone down the road.

Andrew climbed into his own car, but it was only at the first hint of light that he could bring himself to drive off.

***

Andrew came back to Fox Tower in time to see Neil leave it, pale and wide-eyed, his hair completely mussed. Neil seemed to have been lost deep enough in his own head that he didn’t even notice Andrew until that called his name. “Neil.”

Neil halted and looked around. When he noticed Andrew, his face plunged into a scowl and he snapped, “I’ve depleted my hair dye supply, so you can sleep nice and sound now.”

Andrew blinked. “Your what?”

“My hair— you know what, I don’t have the patience to deal with you right now,” Neil said, starting to stalk away from the building. Andrew’s instinct was to reach out for him, but he remained in his place.

“Did you have another nightmare?” he said. Even though he hadn’t raised his voice, Neil stopped.

“Kind of,” he finally admitted, not turning around. Andrew’s gaze was intently fixed on his slightly-hunched back. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I usually go out for pancakes after I have nightmares,” Andrew said, and they both started. Neil half-turned to him, his expression bordering between confusion and amusement.

“You don’t strike me as a pancakes-kinda guy,” he said. Andrew kept looking at him solemnly, and Neil huffed. “Okay, maybe I can see it now.”

“There’s a place that serves them with fruit and shit,” Andrew said, gesturing at the said place’s vague direction. Neil quirked an eyebrow at him. “They have healthy options for weird guys like Kevin.”

“What’s so weird about wanting to be healthy?” Neil said, now fully facing him. He crossed his arms, but there was a clear hint of amusement at the curve of his mouth. “Some people want to live long and happy lives, you know?”

“Happy?” Andrew sneered. “Without chocolate? Please.”

Neil snorted. “If that smoothie I saw Kevin drink yesterday is any indication, he'd have an aneurysm if he hears you.”

“Kevin can go choke on his kale,” Andrew dismissively said. “We’d all be happier without his smoothies.”

Neil’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not saying he’s making the team drink those.”

“Dan and Allison set his smoothie maker on fire because of that,” said Andrew. Neil’s eyebrows comically rose even higher up his brow. “They wouldn’t let him buy a new one for three months.”

“What a shame,” Neil flatly said. Andrew huffed noncommittally, and Neil’s smile widened slightly. “Would you look at that. He laughs.”

“I didn’t laugh,” Andrew said.

“Really? Because to me, that sounded a lot like a laugh,” Neil said, a challenging spark to his eyes. Andrew gave him a flat glare, at which Neil shrugged.

“I could—“ Andrew started, but then stopped. Neil tilted his head inquiringly. Andrew swallowed his pride, shoved his hands in his pockets and rapidly said, “if you ever get another nightmare, I could show you that pancake place.”

Neil stared at him for a long moment, during which Andrew managed to convince himself he’d just royally fucked everything up, and was three steps into planning Jean’s murder for his stupid advice. But then Neil’s expression brightened and he said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jean would get to live another day, then.

Andrew watched as Neil turned and jogged away, the tension in his shoulders from before somewhat lifted and his movement freer.

Maybe Andrew didn’t fuck up all that bad.

***

By the time Neil came back from his run, he felt a lot less like a mess of clashing emotions and a lot more like a normal human being. That was until, upon his arrival back at his room in Fox Tower, Kevin shoved a kale smoothie into his hands.

Neil looked down at the green liquid swirling in the mug, watching with something akin to wonder as an un-smoothied chunk of kale floated up, and then lifted his eyes back to Kevin. “The hell is that?”

Kevin patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “That, my friend, is the secret to winning championships.”

Neil blinked, then looked down at the smoothie again. He searched around the room, and his eyes fell on Andrew, who was sitting on one of the beanbags and leisurely smoking a cigarette. Once their gazes met, Andrew gave him a two-finger solute, before craning his neck up and puffing a long line of smoke toward the ceiling.

Neil looked back to Kevin and shoved the smoothie back at him. “I don’t want it.”

Kevin looked at him with eyes full of hurt, shoving the smoothie back. “You don’t want to win championships?”

“Sure I do,” Neil said, setting the smoothie down on a nearby table and turning toward the showers. “What I don’t want is to drink your smoothie monstrosity.”

“Amen!” Andrew called out.

“It keeps you in top form!” Kevin yelled after him. Neil made a face at him and shut the bathroom’s door behind him. He should’ve guessed it wouldn’t stop Kevin; a few moments later, he heard his voice outside the door. “You have to be prepared to do whatever it takes, Neil.”

“I can’t hear you over the water!” Neil called, despite not having turned it on yet. “Man, the acoustics here are _great_. Nothing comes in from the—”

“Andrew put you up to it, didn’t he?” Kevin cut him off, sounding scandalized. “I can’t believe he infused you with his anti-kale propaganda—“

“It isn’t propaganda, it’s common sense!” Neil yelled, hearing another faint, “Amen!”

“And why do _you_ keep smoking in here?” Kevin exclaimed, his voice now farther away. Neil snickered to himself. “The smoke alarm—“

“Has tragically passed away,” came Andrew’s distant reply. “It was one of a kind. We can’t possibly replace it without hurting its feelings.”

“It’s a smoke alarm, it doesn’t _care_ —“

Truth be told, Neil really couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation over the rush of the water. It was warm, and the pressure was just right; despite everything, he let himself relax under its steady downpour.

After he was done and ready for morning practice, he chanced a look in the mirror. Andrew hadn’t been wrong; his roots were beginning to show. Neil still didn’t like it. But for the first time, he tried to look at it not as a representation of Nathan, nor of who he used to be. After all, he was no longer Nathaniel Wesninski, was he?

For the time being, he left his hair be. When he came out of the bathroom, he found Kevin and Andrew in the living-room, a half-tense silence hanging in the air. While Andrew sat sprawled in his beanbag, neck craned up and carelessly puffing smoke toward the ceiling, Kevin sat rigidly on the other beanbag with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed.

Neil followed his glare to where the pieces of the mug lay scattered across the floor. He considered commenting, but thought it was better to leave matters as they were, since the problem seemed to have been solved.

“Aren’t we late for practice?” he said instead. Kevin grumbled something incoherent and pulled himself onto his feet, angrily stalking out of the suite.

Neil looked to Andrew, who, noticing his gaze, glanced down at him. “Justice has been served.”

Neil swallowed his smile and followed Kevin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out different than I'd thought but I'm weirdly proud of it. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and thank you for reading <3


	7. Chapter 6

Neil yawned, leaning his chin against the head of his exy racket.

From his place on the bench, he got a decent view of the mostly-empty court. They haven’t started yet, but Kevin was already off throwing balls at the plexiglass; the _thump-thump, thump-thump_ of their ricochet back and forth practically reverberated in the air. Neil’s gaze, however, wandered elsewhere.

Andrew was standing in the goal, his elbow leaning against his racket, which was comically almost as big as him. His head bent low as he looked at something in his phone, seemingly careless of his surroundings. Up until the moment Neil’s gaze fell on him, that is.

Because Neil’s attention seemed to garner Andrew’s attention, and he looked up in an absentminded gesture, eyes naturally locking in on Neil’s. They lacked any particular expression — and it was that lack of expression that suddenly reminded Neil of his latest dream.

No, not of the part where he’d fallen down the stairs and _died_ , thank you very much. He didn’t need any reminders for that. No; it reminded him of the expression Andrew’s eyes held while Neil argued with his mother who wasn’t his mother, threatening to run away with him. And that — that reminded Neil of had happened right _before_ that.

Neil felt his face heating up, and looked away.

“Dude,” Matt said, leaning into his personal space. Neil turned to him, taking the excuse to pretend to stop being aware of Andrew’s gaze; which, he could feel, lingered on him. “Why are you blushing so hard?”

“M’not blushing,” he muttered, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting.

“Do too,” said Allison, leaning into his personal space as well. “I could see your face from the moon with how red it is.’

“Shut up,” Neil said. “I’m probably just tired or something.”

Allison frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you spent the night on the roof again.”

“No,” Neil huffed, leaning back a little. His eyes lifted back up to the court, latching onto the blond midget standing in the goal. He was back to browsing his phone again; and even though Neil let his gaze linger, Andrew didn’t look up again. “No, I’m fine.”

Allison and Matt both gave him funny looks, but Neil ignored them in favor of climbing to his feet, snatching the racket before it fell. They were about to start.

“Minyard, is that a phone I see?” Coach Wymack yelled from over the plexiglass.

“No,” Andrew yelled back, still browsing his phone. Kevin approached him with an exasperated expression and said something that didn’t reach Neil. Andrew looked up and retorted something that made Kevin try and snatch the phone; Andrew, in response, tried to headbutt him. Kevin evaded, threw up his hands and walked over to where Neil was standing, enjoying the show.

“One of these days…” Kevin gritted out, shaking his head. Then he turned to Neil. “Okay, Neil, I know we’ve all been telling you the fate of this year’s championships rests on your shoulders, but I do need to assess you first.”

Neil’s brow creased slightly. “Didn’t you watch my game tapes or something?”

“I did, I did,” Kevin said. “But I need to see you in real-life action. Up close.”

Neil shrugged. “I don’t think I got any worse in the last couple of weeks.”

“If you’ve been training properly, you should’ve gotten better.”

“Kevin, I literally just got here two days ago,” Neil wryly said. “When would I’ve had the time to practice?”

“Okay, whatever, you get my point,” Kevin said, waving his hand that wasn’t holding the racket around. “I hope you feel ready, because there aren’t going to be any second chances.”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “You do know I signed a five year contract, right?”

“My disappointment can be eternal,” Kevin replied.

***

At first, everything went as smooth as ice.

Which really should’ve been his first sign.

But Neil didn’t listen to the musings of fate’s foreshadowing. When they had split into two groups of three — he, Andrew and Matt versus Kevin, Renee and Nicky, with the rest watching from the sidelines — Neil was managing everything decently, if he would say so himself. He even scored a couple of times, even though it didn’t help his makeshift team win, since Kevin kept getting past Andrew’s nonexistent defenses. The fourth time Andrew let a ball pass right by him, Neil actually yelled some intelligible profanity, because damn it if it wasn’t frustrating; didn’t Allison say Andrew was _good_ at this?

Anyway, they finished the first scrimmage with Neil’s team losing, but Kevin looking relatively satisfied. For now. And that was when he suggested that he and Neil switched places.

Neil started the second scrimmage with confidence having taken a hold of him, and really, that was his first mistake.

Because he was careless. Just a little bit. He gave away the angle of his strike right before the ball left the net, and he could see Andrew latch onto the telltale; and then, in a swiftness that they _really_ could’ve used not ten minutes ago, caught the ball with his racket.

Neil straightened with a scowl. Andrew fished the ball out of the net, and, with an expression that could only be described as smug, threw the ball back at him. “Better luck next time.”

“I hate you,” Neil grumbled, catching it.

“You got this, Neil!” Allison yelled from the sidelines once they reset into their positions. And then they were off again.

Neil quickly got back into it. He caught the ball from Nicky, sprinted toward Andrew’s goal, and right when he was about to demolish the little midget, their eyes interlocked — and a familiar image suddenly invaded Neil’s head. He, on a bed; Andrew, on top of him; them, passionately making out.

He promptly tripped over his own feet, the ball clattering off his racket and skittering across the ground in an echoing _skit-skit-skit_. It rolled up to Andrew, who put his foot on it, casually leaning his shoulder against the skeleton of the goal. “That was so much worse, Junkie.”

“Shut up,” Neil said. He bit the inside of his cheek _hard_ , in the hope that the pain would clear away that mental image. _Breathe, Neil,_ he told himself. His face was blazing hot. _Breeeathe._

Kevin ran up to him, knocking his racket against the ground. “The hell was that?”

“I tripped,” Neil shamefully admitted, looking away from both him and Andrew. “Accidentally.”

“I would _hope_ you didn’t do that on purpose,” Kevin chastised. “You have to be focused if you want to stay on the court.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Neil said, turning to get back to his position. Now that his back was to Andrew, he felt like the mental image was quickly fading away. “It won’t happen again.”

Guess what? It happened again. Only _worse_.

As soon as he lined up to shoot his shot, his eyes once again interlocked with Andrew’s, who didn’t even try to conceal his amusement. Neil dared, for a second, hope that he’d gotten immune; but then the mental image came back, only this time, neither of them had their shirts on.

Neil stopped dead in his place, straightening without meaning to. The ball fell to the ground. He could feel everyone’s confused gazes locking in on him, except for Andrew’s; the little bastard looked like he knew _exactly_ what Neil was thinking. Only that was impossible, because it’d been a _dream_.

Neil’s mind then decided that this was the perfect time to reflect on his other dreams, because the next thing he knew, he was blinking between mental images; him and Andrew talking through a burning church; him and Andrew cuddling on the crappiest sofa known to mankind; him and Andrew making out on an expensive bed, with Andrew trying to tug his shirt off.

_Oh God,_ Neil thought, staring into space with abundant horror. _What if next time I’ll have a—_

“Neil,” Kevin said, clicking his fingers right in front of his face. “Earth to Neil. What the hell happened just now?”

“I think I need a break,” Neil muttered, blinking at the void. The mental images cleared to reveal Andrew — who was once again leaning against the goal and observing him, amusement clear in his eyes.

_No_ , Neil told his face when that tried to heat up, again. _No, that’s it, I’m out._

He had a duffle bag to pack, after all. Just in case tomorrow he’d wake up having to flee the country. _Again_. Because there was no way in hell he was going to deal with _that_.

That’s it. His exy dreams would be crushed, just because Andrew kept sneaking into his actual dreams _un-fucking-invited_ , taking his damn shirt off and kissing him in a way which, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about. Because, _apparently_ , repeatedly dying horrible deaths wasn’t bad enough as it was.

And that was how Neil found himself fleeing from the exy court half an hour before practice was over, blocking out Kevin’s squeal of, “did you already forget about my eternal disappointment?”

_***_

Neil walked into the empty locker room, absently rubbing his hair dry with a towel as he went straight for his duffle bag. On the way, however, his knee bumped against one of the benches, and a different bag fell to the ground.

Neil dropped his eyes to it, frowning. It was Andrew’s. A book half-slipped out of it, peaking out at him; there was something familiar, somehow, about it, in a way that he couldn’t explain any more than he could explain his nightmares. He found himself crouching and picking it up, before turning it to look at the cover.

_Latein_.

“Why is this in German?” he muttered, flipping the book open. It looked to be a beaten down copy of a Latin-to-German textbook, with assignments filled out and the occasional paragraph highlighted.

Neil stopped on a page of idioms, skimming over it. He didn’t know Latin, but he’d picked up enough German when he was hiding away in Germany to understand the translations. He halted over a highlighted line.

_In perpetuum et unum diem_.

His brow creased. He looked over his shoulder at the door, as if it would bring Andrew forth and explain why he had such a cheesy line highlighted in a Latin book. Did Andrew even know Latin?

Probably, if Neil were to go by this.

He shook his head, as if refusing to keep asking questions that he didn’t think would ever be answered. Instead he flipped the book shut, and went to shove it back into Andrew’s bag; but when he did, a photograph slipped out of it, gently floating down to land at Neil’s feet.

Neil looked down at it, and promptly froze.

It was an old, black-and-white photograph, distinctly tattered and smudged with age. It showed two people leaning against a library-desk next to each other, facing the camera; one was smiling brightly, while the other looked on evenly.

“What the actual fuck,” Neil whispered, letting go of the book in favor of picking up the photograph. He lifted it closer to his face, as if getting a better look would suddenly completely change what was depicted on it.

Nope. That was definitely him. No scars, outdated clothes and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, but undeniably him. And that was definitely Andrew, next to him.

The sound of footsteps approaching the locker-room had Neil scrambling to put everything back where he found it, and he was just straightening after zipping the bag shut when the door opened, and in walked Matt.

“Neil?” Matt said, surprised. “You alright there, buddy?”

Neil nodded with a little too much enthusiasm, walking straight to his bag and shoving the still-wet hair towel into it without looking. He zipped it a smidge aggressively, silently thanked the heavens for already having dressed, and bolted out of there without saying another word.

He definitely didn’t trust his voice right now.

Basically sprinting out into the parking lot, he almost didn’t notice Andrew intercepting his path. “Wow, Junkie, what’s wrong with you?”

“Way too much,” he blurted out, his voice coming out startled. Andrew shifted to catch his gaze, tilting his head inquiringly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then his gaze zeroed in on something over Neil’s shoulder, and his eyes widened. “Get down.”

Neil frowned. “What—“

“Get down!”

And then Andrew was lunging at him, tackling him to the ground; over them, a gunshot went off.

“What the fuck is going on!” Neil yelled, trying to pull himself out from under Andrew. “Get the hell off me!”

“If you want to get shot and die, by all means, go ahead!” Andrew snarled at him, not shifting his protective position over Neil. Neil’s head shot upward, and he tried to shift to see what was going on behind him — but Andrew kept him down. “They’re on the roof. Don’t fucking move or you’ll make yourself a target.”

“What, and if they shoot you it’s alright?” Neil vehemently retorted, yet again trying to shove Andrew off. It was no use, with all his bulk. “Who the fuck is shooting at us, anyway?”

“How would I know,” Andrew retorted, lifting his own head to observe the roof where the gunshot came from. By then, there was the hassle of people pooling out into the parking lot; Wymack’s rough voice rose above them all.

“Everybody, get the hell back inside!” he yelled, presumably at the other Foxes, whose frantic exclaims Neil clearly heard. “Andrew! Neil! Are either of you hurt?”

“No, Coach,” Andrew yelled back, before pressing down again. Another gunshot went off, making Neil jolt against the blond; Andrew’s arms were curled around him, as was his whole figure. “For _now_ —“

The wail of police sirens cut into the air, and both Andrew and Neil stiffened. Andrew lifted his head again, and then suddenly rolled off of Neil, grabbing his hand and hauling him up. “Go, go, they’re gone.”

They broke into a run back toward the building, both flinching with their hands going for their heads at the sound of another gunshot, albeit this one more distant. The second they were close enough, Andrew shoved Neil into the building; while Neil stumbled inside, chest heaving and eyes wide, Andrew locked the door behind them.

There was a sudden, eerie silence, wherein they both looked at each other.

And then Andrew collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me to myself: okay so there's going to be slow burn. No sudden movements, right.  
> Myself to me: but what if there was a SNIPER on the ROOF  
> Me to myself: what no that's ridiculous  
> Me to myself: ...
> 
> On that note, remember that everything has a reason ;)  
> Thanks for reading!! <3


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that I've updated the tags. TW for suicidal ideation, not too heavy in this chapter but it might get heavier later on.

There had been a time, lifetimes upon lifetimes ago, when Andrew had found Neil in Norway.

Andrew didn’t remember the name of the village; he remembered that it had been small, old and, two hundred years later, hadn’t existed anymore. Andrew was glad it didn’t. If it were up to him, most of the world would’ve been gone by now.

He’d bumped into Neil on the street. He’d been alone, at the time; no Kevin, no Aaron, no nobody, and he’d preferred it like that. Spending that many years with the same people could get awfully grating on the soul. So he’d taken a vacation, so to speak; had gone as far as his feet had carried him, until he hadn’t recognized his surroundings, to the kind of place nobody’d bother following him to. He hadn’t expected finding Neil; it’d been too early. Too obscure. But then again, most of their first meetings seemed a bit random.

It had been a glimpse of red hair and pale skin; a flash of ice-blue eyes, locking onto his for a brief moment that had lingered more than it’d ought to. And then Neil had gone on his way with a bunch of groceries at hand.

They’d met again at the end of the week, when they’d ended up working at the same bakery. Most of their shifts had been at the same time; Andrew baking the bread, Neil managing the costumers. He’d had the kind of charisma that had had people coming back to chat him up; even Andrew’s not-so-inconspicuous glares hadn’t turned away the girls taken by him. But Neil had turned them all down.

They’d grown closer. The first kiss of that lifetime had tasted of flour. Somebody had tried burning Andrew’s house down after the word had gotten out.

But it’d been alright. The only thing Andrew had cared about had been that Neil had been with him, and the arrival of the second winter had marked the first lifetime in a century that had Neil kicking for longer than a year in his company.

But Andrew had long forgone naivety, even back then. He’d known it had been coming. He’d managed ignoring the dread for the first few months; but then, as the days had come and gone, he’d started worrying all the time.

Neil had seen that, because Neil could always detect his moods no matter how hard Andrew tried to conceal them. So on a clear winter morning, at the end of January, he’d grabbed two pairs of ice skates and dragged Andrew to a secluded lake frozen over.

“To take your mind off of things,” he’d said.

“This is pointless,” Andrew’d told him while tying his skates’ laces, a knee perched in the snow.

“It’ll be fun!” Neil had insisted, having already put on his own skates. “When was the last time you went ice-skating?”

“Two hundred years ago,” Andrew’d dryly said. Neil had laughed, and he’d pulled Andrew up, and he’d dragged him toward the ice.

“You always talk like some wise old man,” Neil had told him before they’d stepped foot on the ice. “You’re bound to get wrinkles some day.”

Andrew had rolled his eyes, tapping the knife of his skate against the ice. “You sure it’s safe?”

“I’ve been skating here since I was little,” Neil had dismissively said, getting on the ice. At the skeptical look Andrew’d sent him, he’d laughed again and pulled Andrew toward himself.

Andrew hadn’t been lying. It really had been two centuries since he’d last skated; he’d been seriously rusty. But Neil hadn’t been judgmental. He’d skated with ease — a grace that Andrew had long noticed followed him wherever he’d gone, in whichever lifetime they’d met. Ever the athlete. Ever the runaway.

Neil had showed him how to skate, and Andrew had latched onto his hand, and they’d gone in circles and patterns across the ice. At some point, Andrew’d let go of Neil, letting the redhead go fly across the lake like Andrew’d known he’d really wanted to.

The sun had been on its way to set when the ice under Andrew’s feet had cracked. There had been a split moment, during which Neil’s gaze had snapped down; and then he’d become a blur of movement and Andrew had found himself being shoved away, landing on cold ice, watching as Neil fell in the water in his stead.

Andrew had jumped in after him, heedless of the cold; but the water had indeed been cold, so cold, and by the time he’d grabbed Neil’s wrist, Neil hadn’t been moving. He’d dragged him out. Had splayed him out on solid ice. Had checked blue skin for a pulse, and when there hadn’t been a pulse, he’d started trying to resuscitate him; tried to beat his heart back into beating.

It hadn’t. The sky above had been black and dark by the time Andrew’d stopped trying.

There have been many instances when Andrew had failed to save Neil. All of them, he considered; but that time in Norway has stuck with him. The chill still sometimes creeped under his skin, reminding him that no matter what he did, no matter where they went, no matter if by all comprehensible reason, Andrew was supposed to be the one to perish — Neil would always be the one to take his place.

It was like this. Andrew thought that he’s long ago accepted it.

Well, maybe he’s been lying to himself.

***

Andrew came to hearing Neil yelling somewhere.

He attempted to get up, but a disapproving click-click-click of the tongue made him halt and lift his eyes instead. Abby was looking down at him, medical scissors in one hand and a roll of gauze in another, faintly shaking her head.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Andrew rasped out. “Am I gonna live?”

“You’re lucky it was a regular bullet,” Abby told him, lifting her eyebrows reprovingly. “Neil almost had a heart attack. As did I, and most everyone else.”

“I couldn’t let him get hit,” Andrew said matter-of-factly. “And it’s not like I can die.”

“No, but you can get hurt,” Abby quietly said. Andrew looked away from her, trying to ignore her somber tone.

“But not die.”

Abby sighed and finished patching up what apparently had been a bullet-graze on his side. He’s lost a lot of blood, if his ruined shirt was of any indication; and there was also the matter of him actually passing out.

Which was slightly odd, if he would say so himself.

“Did anyone tell Neil I’m fine?” he absently asked, eyes wandering to the door — behind which Neil’s voice carried, bits and pieces breaking off of it. Abby opened her mouth to answer when it suddenly picked up.

“What do you mean, he’s _fine_?” Neil yelled at someone outside. “HE’S DYING!”

“I’M NOT DYING!” Andrew yelled at the door. There was a brief silence.

“You were _shot_!” Neil screamed back at him, voice not getting any closer. Was somebody holding him back from bursting in? “How are you even trying to deny it, I was literally RIGHT THERE!”

“I’m not denying I was shot, you colossal fucking moron!” Andrew yelled back. Abby slapped the gauze not-so-gently on his bullet wound, making Andrew yelp. It didn’t stop him from continuing to communicate with Neil via the most ineffective way probably ever. The only thing they were missing was a ravine. “I’m not even close to dying!”

“You fucking—“

“Hey, Neil, buddy.” Andrew could faintly hear Matt’s voice. “Calm down. Andrew said he’s fine.”

Neil’s incredulity, despite quieter, was crystal clear. “And you _believe_ him? Why is everybody so fucking _calm_? There was a _sniper_ on the damn _roof —_ does this happen every Tuesday or something?!”

Andrew resisted the urge to facepalm. Could no one even _try_ and act like a normal person, just once? They’ve had more than two millennia to grind up their acting skills. They’ve had so many opportunities to perfect it. And yet they just had to be obvious, always, because apparently they hated Andrew’s sense of inner peace.

Okay, granted, Andrew hated it too, but _c’mon._

“…oh, he’s _resilient_ , is he?” Neil mockingly said, in response to whatever nonsense the idiots outside the door have been spewing. Then the Junkie’s voice pitched up as he yelled, “well I guess I’ll let him _die_ then!”

“Oh my fucking God!” Andrew called out, jumping off of the medical gurney despite Abby’s protests. Shirt all bloodied and torn, bullet wound stitched and half patched up with gauze, Andrew slammed the door open and spread his arms wide, eyes instantly catching Neil’s. “Fine. See? I’m fine.”

The incredulity on Neil’s face could be comical if the circumstances had been different.

Okay, it was pretty funny. Andrew would probably laugh at it on the inside later. But for now, he had to convince his idiot Junkie that no, he wasn’t dying, even though it must’ve looked pretty bad. You know. Objectively.

“Your shirt is soaked with— you know what, screw it,” Neil said, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Fine. You’re fine. If you die it’s officially your fault.”

“Glad we sorted it out,” Andrew dryly replied, before Abby pulled him back to the other room and slammed the door shut. Neil’s unintelligible grumble was lost on him as Andrew was told to sit back down on the gurney.

“You’re bound to be more careful,” Abby gently chided as she finished fixing him up. Andrew let out a sigh that definitely didn’t come across as childish and leaned back against the gurney, hands interlocking at the base of his neck.

“What’s the point, what’s the point,” he said to the ceiling. There was the bustle of Abby tidying up around them. “I’ll be more careful and he’d be dead sooner.”

“One of these days, you might end up joining him,” Abby slowly said. “At this rate.” Andrew blinked at the ceiling, eyes hardening.

“If only,” he said.

The bustle of tidying paused for a moment, before picking back up again. “Have you spoken to Bee lately?”

Andrew hummed apathetically.

“About you, I mean.”

Andrew was quiet for a moment. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Andrew,” Abby said, her voice almost imploring. “How long are you going to keep living like this?”

“For today,” he said. “For tomorrow. Until I get us out of this mess.”

“And if you can’t?” Abby said. “It’s been so long. Maybe it’s time you let him go, for your own sake.”

“You know I’ve tried.” Andrew’s voice was emotionless, but he didn’t steer his gaze from the white ceiling. It had a gray patch on it. A dark stain beside it. “It doesn’t end until it ends. If there’s one thing I know.”

“You should call Bee sometime,” Abby finally said.

“Maybe,” he replied.

There was the sound of footsteps walking away, before the door opened. It was closed, and then another set of footsteps approached. “How are you holding up?”

Andrew looked down, eyes falling on Renee. She was smiling empathetically at him, sitting down on a stray chair near the gurney.

“Still breathing,” he told her, averting his eyes back to the ceiling. “How’s Neil?”

“He’s shaken pretty bad,” she said with a sigh. “He knows that man was after him, not you.”

Andrew frowned. “He recognized him?”

“One of his father’s associates,” Renee said. She paused, and Andrew found himself looking at her, inquiry seeping into his features. “Neil said he looked like one of the Moriyamas’ lackeys.”

Andrew sat up. “I haven’t seen him before.”

“You don’t sound very surprised,” Renee noted. “You knew they were involved?”

“I’ve had my suspicions,” Andrew slowly said, eyes skipping to the door. The back of his hand went up to his mouth, rubbing absentmindedly. “I don’t get it. What are they doing?”

“What they’ve always been doing, I’d say,” said Renee. “Trying to end it.”

“With a bullet,” Andrew flatly said, looking back to her. “A bullet won’t fucking end it. And if they killed him, then what? Wait another eighteen years, shoot him again? And again after that? It won’t change anything.”

“Or it might,” Renee said. “You said he remembered. Something’s already changed.”

Andrew’s features tensed.

“You haven’t figured it out yet,” she said. He shook his head.

“I haven’t,” he said. And then his gaze sharpened, and he stood up. “But I will."

***

Neil was waiting for him when Andrew came out, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall by the door. The rest of the Foxes seemed to have scattered; there was the distant voice of Wymack talking with the police outside, and no sign of anyone else. Renee nodded at Neil, and then left Andrew to fend for himself.

They stood in silence for a few moments, avoiding eye contact. Until Neil said, “you’ve got to stop lying to me.”

Andrew would’ve stilled had he not been standing very still already. Neil sighed.

“I know you’ve been looking into me,” he said, voice casual. A glance at him showed his face being anything but. “Digging up files. Disappearing somewhere. And I,” he paused, biting the inside of his cheek as the back of his head gently hit the wall behind him. “I’ve been dreaming about you.”

“I told you already,” Andrew said. “They—“

“Are not real, I remember,” Neil interrupted him. He finally looked to him — and instead of the panic that Andrew has seen and heard before, there was careful consideration. “But you lied.”

Andrew sighed and leaned back against the threshold. “What makes you think that?”

“I saw your Latin book,” Neil said, and Andrew could see the moment he detected Andrew’s expression shifting. Something in Neil’s jaw loosened, and Andrew suddenly realized there was no point trying to deny it any longer. “I saw your photo.”

“It isn’t mine,” Andrew quietly said. Neil’s eyes darkened and he opened his mouth, no doubt to object, when Andrew added, “it was yours.”

Neil’s mouth snapped shut, eyes widening. Andrew looked away from him, studying a spot on the floor.

“Then—“ Neil started, and then trailed off. He let out a long exhale. “It’s all been real, then.”

Andrew faintly nodded.

“And all the—“ Neil’s breath hitched slightly, and Andrew knew what he was going to ask. “All those times I— I died, did all that really happen?”

Andrew nodded again, once.

“And you… what? Lived through all that?”

Andrew’s jaw set, hard.

“Andrew.”

His breathing shallowed down, but Andrew ignored that, and instead focused real hard on that spot on the floor.

“Andrew,” there was vulnerability in Neil’s voice that Andrew hated hearing. “Look at me.”

He lifted his eyes to him, jerkily, uncertainly. But Neil wasn’t angry; he looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

Andrew forced his face into a mask of indifference. “What do you remember?”

Neil’s cheeks flushed. Andrew felt himself relaxing slightly, because it looked kind of adorable. “I remember liking you. Like, a lot.”

Andrew’s eyebrows rose slightly, and Neil rolled his eyes.

“You want me to say it, don’t you,” he said. “Fine. I remember _kissing_ you. But honestly? Not much beyond that. And…” Neil’s voice trailed off, and his flush died down to make place for contemplation. “I don’t really understand what’s going on, Andrew.”

“I’d say you know the gist of it,” Andrew replied, forcing his shoulders to relax as well. Where have all those years gone, when he’d perfected the art of becoming a cardboard cutout? “A long long time ago,” he said, only a little cynically, “there was you,” he gestured his chin at him, “and me. And we kind of liked each other, like a lot, as you’ve so elegantly put it.”

Neil gave him an unappreciative look.

“There was this curse,” Andrew continued. “I meet you. We mess around for a while, before you die in some horrible way.” Neil cringed. “Then you are born again. You grow up. We meet. We mess around. You die. And on and on forever.”

“And now?” Neil asked. Andrew gave half a shrug.

“Halfway through the cycle,” he said. Neil jerked, pulling back.

“So what, that’s it?” he snapped. “There’s no way out?”

“No,” Andrew replied, and almost startled, himself, at the resolution of his own voice. He looked at Neil intently. “No, I’m not going to let it happen.”

To his surprise, Neil seemed to instantly believe him, and the harsh edge of his mouth mellowed out. Yeah, okay, maybe Andrew shouldn’t have started thinking about his mouth.

Neil’s eyes narrowed at him, and he tilted his head. “Why are you looking so angry suddenly?”

“I’m not angry,” Andrew instantly said, belatedly moving his gaze up to meet his eyes. “I just,” he halted, then straightened. Neil eyed him suspiciously. “Yes or no?”

“That’s way too general for me to a—“ then understanding, or maybe muscle memory, or some kind of other memory, dawned on him. “…nswer.”

Andrew approached him, and Neil remained stock-still in his place against the wall. “Yes or no, to me kissing you.”

“I have this crazy sense of déjà vu,” Neil muttered, eyes dropping slightly. Then he met Andrew’s eyes again. “Why do you always ask that, if you know I’m always gonna say yes?”

Andrew tilted his head. “Because one day you might not.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Neil muttered. Then he shifted closer to Andrew, as if by reflex. “Yeah, it’s a yes.”

Andrew almost crashed into him with how hard he kissed him, and suddenly all that worry, all that pain, all the struggle for change — it all faded away into what was for him a second nature. And Neil kissed him back just as harsh, as if he’s been longing for this just as much, as if Andrew hasn’t been the only one to wait, and wait, and wish so hard.

There was a loud, obnoxious clatter. “Oh, Jeez, they’re at it again.”

Neil broke away to look over Andrew’s shoulder at the entrance. Andrew glared back to see Allison collecting her bag from the floor; she noticed Andrew’s glare belatedly, then started and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, fuck… don’t mind me guys, I said nothing— I’m just gonna—“

She left the room in a hurry, carefully closing the door behind her. They both heard the click- _clack-clack-clack_ of her heels against the floor as she broke into what sounded like an excited run.

Neil looked back to Andrew, brow slightly furrowed. “Does she also know?”

Andrew nodded.

Neil’s expression flattened. “Everybody except me knew, didn’t they.”

Andrew nodded again.

Neil sighed, his head hitting the wall behind him. “How did I even miss it?”

“I admit, it is strange.”

Neil rolled his eyes, before shifting again. “Yes or no to picking up where we left off?”

Andrew leveled him a look. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THE PLOT THICKENS.
> 
> Anyway yeah now that Neil knows, things should be picking up! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and thank you, as always, for reading <3


	9. Chapter 8

Neil sat on the roof, letting a cigarette burn out between his fingers, and breathed in the cool night’s air. He’s woken up from a nightmare, who knew how long ago; but it hadn’t been the usual kind of nightmare.

It hadn’t been about Andrew. It hadn’t even been about his father.

He felt more than heard Andrew emerging onto the rooftop behind him, and let out a long sigh that would’ve been a drag had he been smoking his cigarette. The white smoke shifted in the air, and he watched it as it twirled up into nothing. “You know, I’ve watched my mother die.”

Andrew sat down next to him, and Neil absentmindedly passed him the cigarette, not averting his eyes from where they were fixed on nothing in particular. His voice was quiet, but steady; he knew that he sounded oddly apathetic. “It was the fault of one of my father’s men. I didn’t realize anything was wrong, at first. Couldn’t see it.” He heard Andrew let out smoke beside him. “She was dying right there, in the car, but I didn’t realize until she was too far gone.”

“You drove her up to a beach in California,” Andrew said. Neil nodded.

“I couldn’t get her out of the car, so I lit it up. Buried her ashes in the sand.” He kicked the heel of his shoe against the side of the building. “I figured you knew. It all turned out so public. I still don’t know what I feel about everybody knowing everything about me.”

“Not everything,” Andrew said. Neil huffed, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips; but it dissipated quickly.

“She told me things, you know,” he said. “Before she was gone. I guess I—I mean, we were on the run.” He lifted his eyes to meet Andrew’s. “I figured she was paranoid. Hell, _I_ was paranoid. But it all makes so much more sense now.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me to run,” he said. “Never stop, never look back. Don’t ever trust anyone. But that’s fine. I—I get that.”

Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but Neil continued before he could.

“She also told me to stay alive,” he said. And then he stopped, bit the inside of his cheek, and looked away. Andrew waited, until Neil finally spoke up again. “Because there were higher forces in play.”

Andrew stiffened. “She said that.”

Neil hummed. “She was dying. I thought she might’ve been… I don’t know. I thought maybe she didn’t really know what she was saying. But I guess she just knew more than I did, then. Maybe more than I do now.” He took a deep breath, shoulders sagging slightly. “You know, Andrew, I feel like I don’t even know myself.”

Andrew cocked his head. Neil looked back to him again, and this time, held his gaze. “I’ve been a nobody for so long that I don’t know how to be someone anymore,” he said. “And here you are, and everybody else, and you all know things about me that I can’t even remember. Not really. You must’ve kissed me a thousand times, but I’ve kissed you just once. How is that fair?”

Andrew was quiet for a long moment. “It isn’t supposed to be fair.”

Neil sighed, leaning his arms back against the rooftop, and pulled back his head. A faint breeze brushed by his face. “When we first met, you lied to me,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me? About this. About us.”

“Because that’s your part,” Andrew quietly said. “One to always remember, and one to never find out.”

“But I did find out.”

Andrew hummed.

Neil looked at him, inquiry in his eyes. “Was I supposed to die before I did?”

That made Andrew tense. He shifted his gaze to the view, and to the first hints of the breaking dawn; orange splattered against the sky, the line of the horizon highlighted a deep, bright red. There were still faint hints of stars, not having yet completely faded out. “If not before, then shortly after.”

“What, just like that?"

A brief silence dragged out. “Just like that.”

Neil chewed on the inside on his cheek, before catching himself and forcing himself to stop. He hated the taste of blood in his mouth. “And there’s no way to stop it?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said. In his periphery, Neil saw him throw the cigarette off the roof, not even bothering to stub it out. “Remember that day in the library?”

“What, when you were being a creep and looked through my records?” Neil smirked when Andrew gave him a flat look. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. What of it?”

“I was,” Andrew said, stopped, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I was trying to figure out why you were dreaming about what’s happened between us. Because it’s not supposed to happen.”

“One to never find out,” Neil echoed his earlier words. Andrew nodded.

“I thought maybe there was something unusual about your current life,” Andrew explained. Neil still found it funny in the most unhumorous way, how casually he could say that. “There wasn’t. Except for your father’s affiliations.”

Neil stilled. He could swear he felt his heart stop for a moment. “My father?”

“Are you familiar with the Moriyamas?” Andrew said. Neil reluctantly nodded.

“He worked for them,” he said. “Did their black jobs. Everything that was too dirty, and then some.”

“You see, that’s weird,” Andrew said. “And quite the coincidence. How people whom I’ve known throughout my miserable immortality happened to have hired your father, before you were ever born.”

Neil tilted his head, puzzled. “They’re immortal? Fuck, it’s just my luck.”

“Junkie, you’re missing my point.”

“Well, do a better job getting it across,” Neil retorted, in a very mature manner. Andrew sighed.

“The Moriyamas have been messing with us — well, with me, but that inherently implies you — ever since—“ he halted, thinking his words over. “Ever since this curse started.”

Neil frowned. “The fuck do they care?”

“More people care than you realize,” Andrew said. “And they meddle. Try to impact the outcome.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Neil said. “Since the outcome is my… uh, my death. You’re saying they’re trying to prevent it.”

“They’re trying to end it,” Andrew said. “There’s more than one way it can end.”

Neil frowned, before realization dawned on him. “Like dying permanently,” he slowly said, observing him. “Is that possible?”

Something dark passed in Andrew’s eyes — but it was gone in a moment, his features schooled back into their even demeanor. “I don’t know. Doesn’t stop them from trying, though.”

“Then how come I’m still breathing?”

“Killing you doesn’t stop it,” Andrew replied. “So there’s only messing with the conditions. Finding a loophole, and, through it, game over.”

Neil was quiet for a moment. “You think they’ve found it?”

“I do,” Andrew said. “But they’re keeping it to themselves. I should’ve realized it, but I let myself get distracted.”

Neil gave him a funny look, and saw a faint blush creep up Andrew’s neck. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Shut up,” Andrew snapped.

“You know,” Neil cut in, unbothered by Andrew’s distracted face, “we could just infiltrate Evermore. Find out the answers.” He smirked. “We could call it a date."

Andrew blinked at him. Then he said, voice dry, “that sounds romantic.”

“You want something more romantic than fighting for your everlasting love?”

“I’ll push you off this roof,” Andrew threatened. Neil grinned at him, half devious, half delighted.

“I’ll just drag you down with me.”

They looked at each other for a few long moments. Then, they both looked away, instead gazing at the sunrise.

“It’s a pretty sunrise,” Neil absently said, after a while.

“All sunrises are,” Andrew replied.

***

Matt caught Neil before morning practice, pulling him aside. “Hey, Neil. I heard you, uh, found out.”

Neil raised an eyebrow at him, a tiny, evil little voice whispering in his ear. “Found out what?”

Matt shifted uncomfortably and chanced a glance around them, as if looking for confirmation that Neil actually knew and that he wasn’t, you know, risking his life. “You know. About the thing.”

Neil mastered a clueless expression. “The thing?”

“About you,” Matt said. “And, uh, and Andrew.”

Neil huffed out a small laugh and shook his head. “I’m just messing with you. Yeah, I found out.”

Matt instantly looked relieved. “Good, that’s good. I just…” he hesitated, then put a hand on Neil’s shoulder. Neil wad surprised at how sturdy his hold was. “I want you to be careful.”

Neil frowned, this time for real. “What, of the Moriyamas? It’s not like I haven’t been careful of them before.”

Matt looked taken aback by that. “The Moriyamas?”

“I mean, I know they’re trying to kill me and stuff,” Neil blabbered on. “The whole sniper on the roof ordeal and what Andrew said, about them trying to get me to not come back, or something like that. But even before I knew that they’re immortal and stuff—“ Matt paled— “They were still a threat. I know they’re dangerous.”

“Yeah, they are,” Matt said, voice trailing. “And I’m glad you know that. But that’s not what I meant.”

Neil tilted his head. “What did you mean?”

“Listen,” Matt said, letting out a sigh. “I know you and Andrew go back, way back, but… You should be careful when it comes to him.”

“Of _Andrew_?” Neil said, voice incredulous. Matt nodded, reluctantly. “But Andrew wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, you always trust him like that,” Matt said. “But it’s not always what it seems. If you feel like something’s off, or if you get in trouble, I want you to know that you can always call me.”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “Did he do something?”

“It’s complicated,” Matt said.

“It all is,” Neil dryly replied. Matt sighed again, rubbing his eyebrow.

“Just promise me that if something goes wrong, you’d call me,” he finally said. “Don’t go be a hero and deal with it alone. Okay?”

Neil heard the underlying concern lacing Matt’s words; there was genuine worry in his eyes, making Neil’s objections die right at the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, Matt, I will.”

Matt smiled and patted Neil’s shoulder. “Let’s go, before Kevin will eat us for being late.”

“He wouldn’t,” Neil said, following him. “He needs us for the line-up. Which reminds me,” he abruptly stopped. “Is everyone on the team like Andrew?”

“More or less,” Matt admitted, stopping as well.

“Then how come you’re not winning every game?”

“We’re immortal, not super-powered,” Matt laughed. “And the sport was only just invented.”

“Only just,” Neil muttered. “Just, oh, thirty years ago. You’ve had plenty of time to practice, didn’t you?”

“You’re starting to sound like Kevin,” Matt wryly said. “And besides, we’re not the only immortal bunch out there. Except for the Moriyamas, there are more like us.”

“And they all play exy,” Neil dryly said, quirking an eyebrow. “That’s an awfully specific coincidence.”

“Not all exy players are immortal and not all of us play exy,” Matt said. “But it is a sport that was invented by us.”

Neil stared at him like he just had an epiphany. “I should’ve gathered that.”

Matt grinned. “Why do you think Kevin’s so crazed about it? But It’s okay, sometimes I also forget that.”

“Kevin’s crazy in general,” Neil said, now also smiling. They resumed their walk toward the stadium; but then Matt glanced at the time, and his walk turned into a power-walk turned into a jog.

When they got to the court, Kevin was waiting with his arms crossed and a deep, almost pouting scowl on his face. “I expected as much from Andrew. But not from you, Neil.”

“Five minutes, Kevin.”

Kevin’s scowl deepened further, if that were even possible. “First you flunk your try-outs, and then you have the nerve to be _late._ ”

“I didn’t flunk the try-outs,” Neil protested. “I didn’t even try out! I’m here on a scholarship, Kevin, which you keep forgetting for some reason.”

“I think he’s talking about that scrimmage, when you went up against Andrew,” Matt pretend-whispered to him. Neil turned to him with a scandalized expression, his cheeks only slightly red.

“That wasn’t my fault,” he insisted. “Did you _see_ how Andrew was taunting me? He was setting me up for failure!”

“On the court, you have to be focused,” Kevin said, arms still crossed. “No distractions. We can’t just kick Andrew out of our team because his very sight makes you lose all coordination and sensibility.”

Neil’s face reddened. “You don’t have to exaggerate like that.”

“Did you or did you not miss every single shot you took against him?” Kevin said, raising his eyebrows. “I think you did. And I also see you’ve forgotten about my unforgiving judgement.”

“ _Kevin_ ,” Neil complained.

“Neil,” Kevin deadpanned at him. “As of today, I’ve decided to train this weakness out of you.”

Neil blinked. “What?”

Kevin continued, unbothered by Neil’s stricken expression, and gestured toward the farthest goal. Neil saw the silhouette of a certain blond guy standing in the goal, arms crossed and a pissed off expression on his face. “Andrew is nowhere to be found, yet again,” Kevin said. “But lucky for us, he has an identical twin that should replicate the effect he has on you.”

Neil stared at him, uncomprehending. “ _What?_ ”

Beside him, Matt burst out laughing. “Did you seriously put Aaron in the goal, Kevin?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures!” Kevin declared. “I shall train Neil to become the epitome of exy. All weaknesses need to be terminated.”

“Now you sound like you’re planning to assassinate Andrew,” Neil said, looking from Aaron in the goal to Kevin, expression still completely baffled. “Can’t we just do a normal scrimmage?”

“Do you think championships are going to be normal, _Neil_?” Kevin said. Neil sighed. “We can’t win the ultimate price with mere _mediocracy_.”

“Fine, whatever,” Neil said. “I’ll terminate my _weakness,_ ” he made air-quotes, “just in case Andrew will turn out to have a third identical twin who so happens to play against us in championships.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Kevin said, as if that was exactly what he’s been wanting Neil to say all along. He turned around without further ado and jogged onto the court.

“Be strong,” Matt told Neil, who squared his shoulders. “Besides, it’s historically proven that you don’t like Aaron, so it shouldn’t even be a problem.”

“Where is Andrew, anyway?” Neil muttered, looking at Aaron in the goal. But before he could speculate, Kevin started yelling at him from across the court, and he gave and joined him.

***

Neil found Andrew that evening at Fox Tower’s parking lot, waiting next to his car. When Neil approached him, he unlocked it, and went around to get into the driver seat.

Neil climbed into the passenger seat. “We’re going by car?”

“Unless you can teleport, yes.”

Neil leaned back in his seat as Andrew turned on the engine. “We can’t miss too many classes, you know.”

“We’ll be back soon enough,” Andrew replied.

Neil sighed deeply and tried to relax. By the time the next sunrise came, they were going to find everything out. In the meantime, Neil found himself dozing off.

Andrew drove on, letting him sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter <3


	10. Chapter 9

The air was heavy with fog.

Neil was standing in the middle of a vast, vast field. Grass reached to his mid-calves; the trees were few and far in-between; the sky was indistinguishable from the fog hanging low. It was day, but there was no sun, it being hidden above a thick layer of clouds.

He was looking around him, searching for something. For someone. He racked his brain, trying to remember who it was, where he was, how he’d gotten here. He couldn’t remember, but he kept looking.

His search guided his gaze to a feather. He’s almost stepped on it, hidden in the grass; it was white and large, much larger than a bird’s feather, the light breaking on it sharper than it should’ve.

Neil crouched in front of the feather and picked it up. It was soft and frail, and familiar, somehow. He put it in his pocket and stood up.

A few steps ahead, there was another feather, identical to the first one. Neil picked that one too and put it in the same pocket. Ahead, there was another one. And another one after that. He followed the trail of feathers, collecting them as he passed, until he found himself standing on the edge of a cliff.

He looked down. The fog obscured the bottom, flowing into the gap in the ground like cotton wool. A pale-white sea’s shore, with no other end, no bottom, no ground in sight except that which he was standing on. He put his hand in his pocket, fingers closing around the pile of soft feathers he’s collected.

There was the brush of wind behind him, and he felt the sudden force of someone pushing him, hard, forward.

He let out a yell as he tumbled into the fog, the feathers escaping his pocket and flying upward. The wind lashed out at his face and clothes as he fell and fell and fell, and all of a sudden, he could see the ground he was about to crash into. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact.

He woke up.

***

Neil’s shoulder bumped into the door, and he instantly straightened, looking around him for threats — only for none to be found. The sky outside was dark. The road ahead was mostly empty. Andrew still drove, tapping something against the steering wheel.

Without looking away from the road, he said, “bad dream?”

Neil leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. “Kind of.” He gave Andrew a curious look. “How’d you know?”

“You were yelling,” Andrew said, still not looking at him. Neil let out a small, “huh,” and turned his attention back to the road. A road-sign told him they were getting close to their destination.

A few minutes passed before Neil spoke up again. “I dreamt of feathers.”

Andrew glanced at him. “Feathers?”

“There was like a whole trail of them,” he said, gesturing in front of him as if to demonstrate. “All white and shiny. Then I fell off a cliff.” Neil glanced at him. “Did that happen?”

Andrew shrugged and looked back to the road. “Contrary to what you might think, I haven’t been there for every single part of your life. I don’t know.”

“It didn’t feel really… uh, real,” Neil said. “And you weren’t there. So maybe it didn’t really happen.”

“Do you often dream of falling?”

Neil startled at the question. Then he frowned. Did he? He’s been so consumed lately by dreams of his past lives that he’s forgotten what it meant to dream like a normal person. What had he dreamt about before he’s starting having these dreams?

“I don’t know,” he said.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence. It wasn’t a bad kind of silence; just a silence, calm and quiet and uneventful. Then they arrived at Evermore.

Andrew parked the car a few blocks away, just to be discreet, and they stepped out into the chilly Virginia night. It was late, and there weren’t many people outside; certainly nobody to pay them any particular mind.

Neil couldn’t help but lean toward the shadows, hands in his pockets and lowering his head. It was like walking into a memory, habit grinding into action — to blend in, to become invisible, to not raise any suspicions. They couldn’t be spotted, much less recognized, if they wanted to get anything out of this little road trip.

Sneaking inside was surprisingly easy. It wasn’t too long before they found themselves in a dark corridor, silently creeping toward what they hoped was useful evidence, or an explanation, or anything of the sort. The oppressing colors of red and black closed in on them, making everything seem just a little too creepy for Neil’s liking.

He’s heard of the Ravens’ reputation. They were ruthless on the court and so was their training; not to mention the Moriyama’s ties to the mafia. He didn’t like these guys. Nobody liked these guys. But apparently, they were immortal, and apparently, they knew about him and Andrew — so he swallowed his unease and went on.

Andrew, in front of him, just opened a door that had a small, golden plate reading _office_ attached to it, when Neil suddenly felt something cold press against the back of his head.

He froze in his place, all of his nerves setting on edge. Someone cleared their throat behind him. “Andrew. It’s been so long.”

Andrew whipped his head around, his expression going eerily blank. There was something threateningly cold shadowing his eyes, visible despite the dimness of the corridor. “Riko.”

Neil internally cursed his luck and shifted to try and glimpse Riko from his periphery. Behind him, Riko pressed the muzzle of the gun harder against his skull. “Don’t move.”

“What are you gonna do?” Neil replied. “Shoot me?”

Riko let out a startled noise. “What do you think the _gun’s_ for, huh?”

“Dramatic effect?”

Andrew stepped toward them, but Riko clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Come any closer and I’ll blow his brains out.”

“I’ll just come back,” Neil spat. At that, Riko laughed — a loud, sudden sound, and the gun shifted against Neil’s head disconcertingly. The last thing he needed was for him to accidentally pull the trigger.

Andrew’s voice was cold when he spoke. “What’s so funny?”

“You think— you think—“ Riko wheezed slightly before calming down, his voice going back to normal. “I expected it from you, Neil, but Andrew—“ now his voice lowered into something dangerous. “I thought you knew better, Andrew.”

“What are you talking about?” Neil asked, voice sharp. The gun resumed its previous position against his head.

“You’re a cat on its ninth life, Neil,” Riko said. “I shoot you now, you’re gone. _Blam_. No more second chances.”

“You’re bluffing,” Andrew said.

“You really want to test it?”

Neil opened his mouth to reply, but Andrew cut in before he could. “It’s impossible.”

“It really isn’t,” Riko said. “I’ve avoided you for the better part of a century, but I’m sure you haven’t missed the assassins I’ve sent after your dearest right here.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“How _is_ your clavicle?” Andrew said, his voice lacking any semblance of sympathy. His eyes were downright vicious.

“Aches when it rains,” Riko replied. “But I sleep better knowing that soon, everything will go back to the way it used to be.” He paused for a long moment, wherein Neil felt the gun shift. “Plus or minus a redhead.”

“Go back to what?” Neil said. “What are you talking about?”

Riko patted his shoulder, and Neil stifled the urge to pull away. “Did you know you’ve died, Neil?”

“I figured,” Neil dryly said.

“Fell down the stairs after Nathan hit you,” Riko said. Neil’s reply died on his tongue, all the blood draining out of his face.

“What?”

“Your bitch of a mother found little Nathaniel without a pulse,” Riko conversationally continued. “But lucky for you, she managed to revive you. You were… ten, if I recall correctly.”

“That’s impossible,” Andrew said. But then his eyes found Neil’s, his face sombering at the expression he was met with. Neil stared back at him, heart going _ba-damp, ba-damp, ba-damp_ , rising in his temples.

“Do you remember now?” Riko sweetly asked, his voice closer to Neil’s ear. “Quite the irregularity, it was.”

“Who told you about that?”

“Must’ve overheard it somewhere,” Riko dismissively said. “I was there when you came here. Do you remember? You probably do. You disappeared the very next day, after all. Fell off the face of the earth.”

Neil remained silent as Riko blabbered on, eyes interlocked with Andrew’s. There was a quiet sort of panic hiding in there, he could tell; it mirrored his own.

“And then when my uncle confirmed you were _the_ Nathaniel, the one we all watched as he lived and died and lived and died and _lived and died_ —“ Riko inhaled, his voice turning malicious. “And that, for the first time ever since — for the first time, you were vulnerable — well, what do you think happened?”

Neil’s brow creased.

“Excuse me, I’m asking the wrong person,” Riko said. Neil saw Andrew’s eyes flick up. “What do you _think_ happened, Mr. Minyard? Eh?” But before Andrew could respond, Riko answered his own question. “Well, what happened was that Neil was set to be executed the next day.”

Neil’s breath hitched. Was that what his mother was… was that why she took him and fled?

Was that why they were being hunted down so insistently? For so long?

“It was quiet the coincidence, I admit,” Riko continued. “The whole situation with your father. But it was a simple solution, right? He was the one ordered to take care of you; it was only appropriate that he would be the one to finish it, once and for all.”

“He’s dead,” Neil said.

“He is,” Riko agreed, and pressed the gun harder against his head. Neil winced; Andrew started forward.

“Nah-ah-ah,” Riko said, and Andrew stopped. A snarl distorted his features. “Now, I’ll ask again. Do you _really_ want to test it, Andrew?”

“Let him go.”

“Let me think about it,” Riko said, humming. “No, I don’t think I will. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

“I could guess.”

“And frankly,” Riko continued, “I know you’ve been waiting just as long.”

Neil shifted his head in sharp bewilderment. In front on him, Andrew straightened. “What?”

“All those years,” Riko drawled. “All those _lifetimes_ — the same story, told over and over and _over_ again, a thousand times. I know you’re exhausted. Anybody who’d spare you half a glance could see how _done_ you are.”

“Shut up,” Andrew snarled.

“I imagine what Neil here would say if he knew how you _really_ feel about him,” Riko said, tapping his gun against Neil’s head. Neil recoiled, and Riko laughed, low and bitter. He then lowered his voice, talking right into Neil’s ear. “He wants you gone as much as anyone else, you know.”

“Shut up,” Neil snapped. “Quit talking about things you don’t understand.”

“You’ve only just met him,” Riko said. “I’ve known him for so much longer than you. _This_ you. Do you think he likes watching you repeatedly die? What do you think that does to a person?”

“Neil, don’t listen to him.”

“I’m not a complete idiot, Andrew,” Neil snapped. “I know he’s trying to rile me up.”

“Is it working?” Riko sweetly asked. Andrew glared at him, and Neil shifted as much as he dared in an attempt to do the same.

All of the sudden, Riko’s arm closed around Neil’s throat, pulling him closer to him. He put the muzzle of the gun to Neil’s temple and cocked it; Neil watched with wide eyes as Andrew paled even further, glowering at Riko.

“I can make it all stop,” Riko said, addressing Andrew. Neil was very near hyperventilating on panic, if only he could breathe properly. “All it’d take is a bullet.”

“Let him go, or I swear—“

“I will,” Riko said, cutting him off. Both Neil and Andrew startled. “On one condition. It’s easy, I promise you.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed.

“Tell me,” Riko said, “and be honest when you do; tell me that if I shot him right now, there wouldn’t be a part of you that would be relieved to know that he’s never coming back.”

Neil would’ve laughed at that. He’d have laughed at that, and called Riko an idiot, and told him Andrew would never tell him something like that — but then his eyes met Andrew’s, and he saw them wide and hard and hesitating — and suddenly he didn’t want to laugh anymore.

“Andrew,” he said. He couldn’t help the hurt invading his voice. Andrew stared at him, and his jaw was taught, and he wasn’t saying anything.

“Come on,” Riko taunted him. “It’s easy. Neil would say that for you in a heartbeat, I’m sure. _Come on,_ Andrew. Tell me not to shoot him.”

“Let him go,” Andrew said, his voice frail.

“I don’t think I will,” Riko said. And then he pulled the trigger.

***

Neil’s ears were ringing, and for a long moment, he could register nothing else.

Then his senses came back to him, all at once.

He was on the ground, but he was alive. Hasn’t Riko just shot him? He patted his head, looking for a gaping whole, for the feeling of warmth trickling into his shirt, but he found nothing but mussed hair and a heartbeat that was pounding, pounding, pounding so strong.

He was being pulled up by his arm. He lashed out, but his wrist was caught, and under the ringing he could hear Andrew’s voice telling him it’s him, to calm down, to follow him.

His vision focused, and instantly zeroed in on Andrew. There was blood. Neil’s blood? But he wasn’t bleeding; he only belatedly registered the way Andrew’s arm hung limp at his side, the way his face was slightly scrunched up, the way his sleeve was soaked red with blood.

“You’re hurt,” Neil said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. He looked around him, suddenly registering that Riko was lying behind him, unconscious, his gun lying on the ground a few feet away. Neil lifted bewildered eyes back to Andrew. “What did you—“

“We need to go, Neil,” Andrew said, his voice low. Neil looked back at the unconscious Riko, registering the blood on his head and the — what did Andrew do, crush his clavicle? What was going on? “ _Neil._ Can you hear me?” There was a cold touch at the back of his neck. “Neil. Abram.”

Neil’s eyes snapped up to him. “I never—“

“Told me that, I know,” Andrew said. “But we _need to go_. Before somebody else finds us.”

Neil followed Andrew in a daze as they retraced their steps, emerging back from the same place through which they’d come. They could hear shouts and footsteps and swears somewhere behind them, but they ran without looking back; before long they were back in the car in some dingy alley, Andrew claiming the driver seat despite Neil’s protests.

“Andrew, wait, your arm—“

“It’s fine, Junkie,” Andrew said, turning on the engine. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re still bleeding!”

Andrew glanced at his arm, as if he hasn’t realized. “It’ll stop at some point.”

“Do you _want_ to die or something?”

“I can’t!” Andrew snapped. Neil fell quiet, heart hammering in his chest. Andrew sighed, dropping his head; then, a moment later, he lifted his eyes again and drove out of the alley. “I told you, Junkie. It doesn’t matter. I can’t die.”

“You also told me you won’t let me die,” Neil bitterly said. Andrew’s jaw set.

They drove in tense silence for a while. At some point, Andrew’s arm stopped bleeding. At some point, Neil’s heartbeat slowed down to its normal rhythm. At some point, Neil opened his mouth to speak — only for the whole world to suddenly disrupt.

There was no warning. One moment, they were driving; the next, Neil blinked to find himself looking at the ceiling, his blood rushing to his head, and his ears, once again, ringing. It was long and thin and continuous, and it had him panicking.

He struggled against his seatbelt only for a sharp pain to pass through him. He huffed, quietly; turned his head. Next to him, Andrew was being held back from dropping onto the roof by his seatbelt, completely limp, blood dripping from his temple onto the roof under him. _Drip, drip, drip_.

“’Drew,” Neil slurred, his head clouding. Fuck. This was bad. This was bad. Was Andrew breathing? He had to be breathing; he couldn’t die, he’s just told him this. But he wasn’t moving.

Sluggishly, Neil reached into his pocket. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. But he pulled out his phone; unlocked it. Dialed a number.

Neil’s eyes slipped shut, his mind going empty. He was… he was supposed to be doing something. But he wanted to go to sleep. Yeah, sleep sounded nice. Maybe that was what he was supposed to be doing.

“ _Neil? Neil, are you there?_ ”

Neil’s eyes flashed open, the fogginess clearing from his head, even if just barely. “Matt,” he said. His voice sounded bad. Faded. “H…help.”

“ _Neil?_ ” The panic there was completely bare. “ _Where are you? Are you hurt?_ ”

“’Drew’s… bleeding.” Neil’s eyes fell shut again, and he forced them open. “Dunno ‘f he’s… breathing.”

“ _Are you hurt, Neil? What happened?_ ”

“Car… crashed…” Neil’s eyes skipped to Andrew. They fell shut. He opened them. “W’st… w’st Virginia.”

There was a small pause before Matt spoke again. “ _Hold on, Neil. Can you do that? Stay awake for me?_ ”

“T’red…” Neil’s eyes fell shut again, and this time, he didn’t open them. “’Drew’s… h’rt. Help… help ‘im.”

“ _Help’s on the way, Neil. I just need you to stay awake. Keep talking to me, buddy._ ”

It suddenly occurred to him that he might be dreaming. Dying dreaming. Everything was foggy, like in his dreams; everything was… faded. Like a memory.

He tried to wake up. He didn’t want to do this again. Didn’t want… didn’t want to start all over again. He was tired of dying, of hurting, of losing… maybe he’d wake up to some kind of better reality. Maybe, once he woke up, everything wouldn’t be so messed up… maybe it’d be okay again.

Was it ever okay to begin with?

“ _Neil!_ ” He registered the urgency, and he knew he was supposed to be… to be… “ _Neil, don’t fall asleep._ ”

No, no, he was tired of dreaming.

“ _Neil, can you hear me?_ ”

The fog washed over him, guiding him toward the darkness. It was good, he thought. It meant he was waking up.

He lost grip on his phone. Lost grip on his time. And he let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(
> 
> (Thank you for reading <3)


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. TW for self harm (punching walls), suicidal ideation and a suicide attempt. The attempt isn't graphic, but if any of these topics bother you, please skip the third section (after the second ***).

Most lifetimes, Andrew met Neil, fell in love with him, loved him, and lost him.

Those were the rules, and the rules were simple. They’ve been made simple so that he would never forget them. There was nothing he could ever do to alter them, nor to dodge them; Neil could never be saved, and Andrew could never avoid the consequences. There were no exceptions.

Except there were.

Andrew’s tried everything to break the cycle. _Everything_. Nothing made a difference in the end — if the end was the restart of the cycle. But there was the bit just before the end, where it ended but hasn’t really began yet, where there was a negative space.

Long ago, on two consecutive occasions, Andrew had meddled with that negative space.

***

_A Long Time Ago_

Andrew walked along the side of an empty dirt-road, his head inclined and his shoulders hunched. The moon hanged low in the sky, the stars hidden behind the clouds; it was dark, and the air was dusty, and the night was deathly quiet.

It was awfully unfortunate. It allowed for his thoughts to roam free.

Neil has been gone for a few years now. Three, or four; Andrew didn’t like keeping track, even though he knew he only pretended not to do so. He didn’t forget a day he’s spent alone, not anymore than the days he’s spent together with Neil. These days, nowadays, were as monotone as the weather — dark, dusty and vague, the cold wind hitting his face, his shoes hitting the dirt road that seemed to have no end.

He got off the road, turning into an empty wheat field whose crops were just barely beginning to sprout. He walked and walked with his head down, leaving a footprint trail behind, courtesy of a recent rain. Then he reached a cliff, stopped, and lifted his head.

The moon said nothing. Andrew sighed and dropped to sit at the edge of the cliff, feet dangling into a dark and distant abyss. He knew this place, had sat here a few times, looked down at the secrets the empty beheld. Looking for answers. Wondering, maybe. More than anything, it was just another thing to make him remember, and remembering was just another thing that made him feel pain.

Sometimes, feeling was too scarce. Especially as time passed.

So he sat and dangled his legs like a kid, motions wide and careless. He lied back, back hitting the cold earth, moistening his hair and clothes. He stared up at the sky and tried not to think of what it was like to be looking at it, when he wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t all that different. It hurt, even worse than this did; but it was a different kind of pain. People were like this, Andrew thought. They waited in all kinds of ways. All he ever did was wait.

Someone sat down at the edge of the cliff next to him. Andrew closed his eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for the sky to clear,” he said, voice as monotone as the darkness behind his eyelids.

“It won’t happen soon,” said Renee. “There’s a storm gathering.”

“Then let it rain.”

There was a thin silence between them, as Andrew blanked and Renee looked ahead.

“You wander off a lot,” Renee finally said. “Is there a place you want to get to?”

Andrew took a moment to think about it. He sank slightly deeper into the darkness, feeling drops of water hitting his face. They were cold, and they were wet, and they were feeling much more than he felt he could ever feel again. “I want nothing.”

Renee hummed. “If that’s what you believe in.”

Andrew opened his eyes, glancing at her. She was leaning back, her neck stretched up so that her face received the trickle of rain. Her eyes were closed and her hair short and free, if not a little tangled. “I’ve missed seeing you around, Andrew. Won’t you come back to the village? Come home?”

Andrew pulled himself back into a sitting position, and peered down at the abyss. “I don’t have a home,” he said. “And neither do you. Any of you. This place… it’s temporary. None of us belong here.”

“It could be made permanent,” she said. “If one decides to settle down.”

“It’ll be gone long before that ever happens,” he replied, then looked up. The rain hit his face, trickling down his cheeks and against the crook of his neck. It chilled him to his core. “Time doesn’t allow for anything to stay.”

“It’s only natural,” she said. “But home isn’t in the place, Andrew. You know that.”

He looked to her, and caught her gaze. Her eyes were level, her expression somber — but not sad. He could see the grain in his eyes looking back. “Home doesn’t exist for people like us.”

“Like us?”

“Like me,” he amended. The muscles in his face slackened, his eyelids dropping. “Like Neil.”

“I don’t think he would agree,” she said. “If you’d asked him. He knows his place in the world.”

“He knows nothing,” he replied. “He has no idea who he is anymore; can remember nothing but fake memories. Memories from a world that isn’t his own. He thinks he belongs but he doesn’t, not anymore than you, or I do.”

“He lived his lives,” she argued. “The same as you now live yours. Would you say you’re living a fake moment, right now? Just because you’re not where you used to be, not where you think it is right?”

“I would,” he said.

They fell quiet once again, thinking of nothing but the rain and the creeping fog. There was also the cold, but it’s been long, very long, since Andrew has known true warmth.

“I don’t think so,” Renee eventually said, slowly climbing up to her feet. She extended him a hand, at which he didn’t even look; merely kept staring ahead, not even shaking his head. Just staring. Looking. Waiting for the sky to clear.

“Think about it,” she said, her hand dropping by her side. “I can’t do anything about him being gone, none of us can. None of us like it. But I don’t want you to slip away, as well.”

“Where would I go?” he said.

Renee sighed, turning away. “Keep in touch, Andrew.”

Andrew let her go away without a word. He remained in his position as the rain broke into a downpour, and remained still as it trickled back into drops; at some point, the rain ceased, the sky up ahead cleared, and faint rays of a dawn invaded into the cliff and the abyss down below.

Andrew stood up when the sun hit his eyes. When he turned to leave, his shoulders hunched and his head bent low, he saw something glinting from between the low wheat crops.

He crouched and picked it up, examining it. It was an arrowhead, metallic and slick with rain, broken at the neck. He glanced around him, but saw no-one else.

He’d seen this type of arrowhead before — a star arrow — but had thought they were all gone. Destroyed. Where had this one come from?

He put it in his pocket, not daring to throw something like this away. In a reality where the enemies were as immortal as him, this was more than an invaluable possession. It could end wars. Or start them; depending on his mood. It could settle things previously defined as predetermined.

He straightened and began walking back the way he’d come. It wasn’t long before he was, once again, treading the dirt road.

***

A few days have passed before the realization hit him, in full force.

It happened at one of the little hours of the night, after he’s hooked up with Roland. They did that sometimes. Both were lonely; neither wanted any strings attached. So they had this… agreement, and sometimes, they hooked up.

And Neil fucking came into his head after that, in that little hour of the night — during which he lied alone in bed, staring at a beaten-down, ugly, cracking ceiling. Neil would’ve been upset, if he’d known. But he wouldn’t ever find out, because he was dead, because he was fucking _gone_.

Andrew sprang up from the bed, his hip bumping into the bedside table and knocking its contents down. He was hitting the wall before he could register it; his fingers flared up in a white-hot pain, his knuckles splitting open. It didn’t help, so he hit the wall again, and again, and again, and finally kicked it and dropped onto the floor, bloody and broken fingers pulling at his hair. His eyes were fucking burning.

It’s been years, _years_ , so why did it still hurt so fucking bad?

He sat on his knees on the ground, back bent and his forehead meeting the cold floor, blood dripping onto it from the open gushes in his hands. He bit his lip so hard it, too, split open and drew blood; the metallic taste filled his mouth, but neither did it do anything to distract him from the pain in his chest.

What was he doing? He didn’t know; was he waiting for a miracle? Neil was there, Neil was gone, and it was so much longer than any period he’s gotten to know him. Neil would never know him like he used to, and would never get to know him as he is now; he would always die just too soon, always come back for only a short little while.

And Andrew would keep waiting and waiting, hooking up when he felt like he couldn’t wait anymore and break the walls when he couldn’t handle Neil being gone. How long would this go on? How long could he _take_ it? Feeling like this?

Andrew hated him, he hated him so bad for doing this to him. Over and over again, coming and taking and loving him and letting him think, maybe, maybe now, maybe today, maybe tomorrow — only for tomorrow to come crushing down in a hurricane, damning Andrew to start waiting all over again. He hated him for making him this pathetically _helpless_ , hated him for not even being able to leave him properly.

Andrew pulled his hands against his chest, cradling the broken and pulsing fingers, the feeling of the blood trickling strangling him at his throat.

He screamed, a blood-curdling, broken scream that tore all the pain out of his throat. He screamed himself hoarse, screamed until he’s lost all of his voice; it broke off into a small, pathetic whimper, an exhale that hit him right back from the floor. When he was done screaming, he had no breath left to spare in his lungs, only panting, chest heaving, fingers bleeding.

His fingers were broken. They hurt so bad.

They brushed against something that lied under him on the floor, metallic and cold. He grabbed it, engulfing it in his hand; it punctured his skin, and he gasped. The fuck _was_ tha—

The realization dawned on him, suddenly, all at once. He was holding the star arrowhead in his palm. In his broken, bleeding, burning palm, the small puncture wound feeling like it was burning him from the inside.

Maybe there was a way to end it.

He could break the cycle. They would never meet; Neil, this Neil, Neil who was now only a little kid, would never know of him in the first place.

Andrew hugged the arrowhead close to his chest and, for the first and last time in his life, let everything out. With his teeth gritted and blood dripping from his lip into his mouth, he curled into a small, tight ball, and he let himself cry.

Renee found him.

Abby patched him up.

Bee talked to him, and he didn’t talk back. He wouldn’t talk until a very, very long time has passed.

***

_A Few Years Later_

Andrew stifled the urge to scratch at his scars, hidden underneath his black armbands. They didn’t really hurt much anymore, but sometimes they started itching something awful. Especially when he was nervous.

He’d never been this nervous in his life.

A few years ago, he’d come across a star arrowhead and tried ending it all. It hadn’t worked, and the arrowhead had been confiscated by Wymack. He’d been furious with Andrew, but he’d also let Andrew sleep on his couch for a long while after it’d happened.

Everybody had tried approaching him, after they’d found out. Had tried telling him all kinds of things, like how he should keep going, for Neil, and how there would be a way out of this hellish cycle. They didn’t understand, and that pissed him off.

There was no way out of this. Not one they were going to like, anyway. And Andrew wasn’t giving up — he’d never stop trying to break the cycle, he’d never just let himself be pushed around by the whims of fate.

Because this wasn’t fate. This was a punishment.

His star arrowhead had, as aforementioned, been taken from him to literally never be seen again. He’d overheard Wymack telling Abby, a while ago, that it’d just up and vanished one day. No matter how far and wide the searches went, they could find no trace of it.

So that was out of the question, probably forever. But Andrew didn’t care. It took him a while to… master the courage, so to speak, but he had a new solution. A shiny, new solution.

Andrew didn’t know what he was going to do, if it worked. He wouldn’t be able to go back to the rest. Renee, he knew, would never be able to even look at him again. He didn’t want to try and imagine what Matt, or hell, even Kevin — would say. He didn’t care.

Their reactions couldn’t be worse than his own, anyway. There wasn’t enough hate in the world to give him for this.

But it was a solution. And an awful solution, he knew, was better than going in circles for the rest of eternity. It would just put them out of their misery.

There was nothing else left to do. Andrew’s long mourned his sense of self, and now, he was ready for it.

For all that, when Neil opened his front door, younger than he was ought to be and innocence radiating from his eyes, Andrew faltered. His broken, dead heart faltered. It threatened to start beating again.

But he couldn’t let it. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to finish it. And it would only keep going, same as it always did.

“Can I help you?” Neil said, intrigue in his voice. His blue eyes were calm, and young. He hasn’t suffered in this life.

Andrew hesitated. For just a moment, he hesitated.

Then he pulled a knife out of his armband and stuck it in Neil’s heart.

His blue eyes widened, and he stumbled back, hand going to the hilt of the knife. Then his knees buckled, the blue paling as his eyes went blank. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Andrew left, not daring to look back.

Matt would’ve killed him if he could. It was too bad there was no way.

Andrew agreed with him. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. He put his hand to his chest and couldn’t register that the beating heart was his own. He couldn’t feel anything anymore.

That was until, many years later, he stumbled into a red-haired, blue-eyed boy.

There were exceptions, small exceptions, to the cycle they were stuck in. But there was no ending it. There was no putting them out of their misery.

In the years and lifetimes that have come to pass, Andrew sometimes wondered whether that option had been put there on purpose. To give him hope. Because there was nothing worse than hope, not in this world. Hope was a poison. It made him lower his defenses; it made him careless, and it made him desperate.

Andrew’s never tried either of those exceptions again. He’s learned his lesson, and that lesson was simple: no matter what he did, he couldn’t save Neil.

There was no ending to it. All he could do was try and stay sane.

***

_Now_

There was a third exception.

It was spare of the moment, nothing like the other two. It wasn’t lurking in a negative space, nor in his thoughts; it was instinct. Instinct and dumb luck. But there was no such thing as luck, not when it came to him — and certainly not when it came to Neil.

Andrew noticed the car coming at them from the intersection before Neil ever did. At the last moment, he swerved the car so that he would take the brunt of the hit, instead of Neil.

The cars collided, and Andrew’s world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading <3


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a panic attack at the beginning.

Neil woke up seeing white, his head killing him.

The first thing he registered was pain. The pain in his head, sharp and pounding; a dull ache in his whole body. His shoulder was on fire. Which led him to register the second thing: there were hands on him, holding him down.

His mind flashed violently back, his eyes seeing stucco and filth instead of a sickly white. There were hands on him; two holding him down by the shoulders, two grabbing his ankles.

“No,” he managed, teeth gritted hard. He thrashed, legs lashing out as he tried to pull free; tried to drag himself away, but his arms were blazing, the pain blinding him. His teeth creaked from how hard he clenched them, the back of his head hitting cold stone. Cold and wet. Wet with his blood. “No, no, let me go.”

“Hold him down!” someone said, their voice steady and commanding. It sounded an awful lot like his father; his father, who had his hands on his ankles, his father, who’d let Lola cut him into ribbons — that was why he hurt, he remembered, that was why everything burned so bad. Lola’s gotten to him. She was holding him down, ever the loyal minion; he heard her chuckling in his ear, and he knew she was enjoying this, because she knew he couldn’t get free.

“Please, no, don’t,” he begged, his voice coming out as a harsh wheeze. The hands around his ankles were unyielding. He kicked out, and he thought he might’ve hit his father in the arm, in the face, _somewhere_ , but he didn’t let go. He let out another desperate wheeze. “Please, no, anything but this, please— don’t do this—“

“On three,” said a voice on his left. It had the color of Lola’s voice, but it was professional; maybe she was finally done playing games. She was going to kill him— no, no, that was wrong. His father was standing right there, a cleaver in his hands — he was going to take his legs, and then his head.

“One,” said Lola, and Neil kicked out again. “Hold him _down_!”

“Let me go, let me go—“

“Two,” she said. Neil whimpered, a pathetic noise, really — but could you blame him? He closed his eyes, refusing to stay in that filthy basement. He pictured a beach, but it was in flames, making his eyes flash open again.

“ _Three_ —“

And his shoulder exploded in pain, dragging a scream out of his throat. That was it — he was done for, he was past the point of no return—

“ _Hold him DOWN!_ ”

He was crying, the tears hot and scorching on his cut and burnt cheeks. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, and the darkness took over him.

***

The next time he woke up, he felt too sluggish to panic.

His head was heavy, and his shoulder was thrumming with a dull ache that filtered into the background of his mind. He was staring at a white ceiling, and the air reeked from antiseptics.

The memory of what happened floated back to him in pieces. He remembered being in the car with Andrew, and he remembered being angry with him. He didn’t feel angry now, couldn’t really remember why he’d been angry to begin with.

His head was heavy, calling for him to fall back asleep. But he didn’t want to sleep. He remembered someone explicitly telling him not to do that. Had it been Andrew?

He straightened slightly in the bed — a hospital bed, he was in a hospital — and glanced around him. His eyes instantly fell on the figure sleeping in the chair beside the bed. “Matt. Hey, Matt. Wake up.”

Matt instantly jerked upright, blinking and looking around. “I’m awake, what’s wrong, who’s dying—“ then he noticed Neil looking at him, and his eyes flooded with relief. “Neil, you’re awake.”

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil said. Something flashed in his mind — Andrew, unconscious and bleeding, hanging by his seatbelt. He felt his mouth go dry. “What happened?”

An uncertain look crossed Matt’s face. “What do you remember?”

“I remember…” he thought about it for a long moment, before his eyes widened. “There was an accident, wasn’t there?”

“I don’t know how much of it was an accident,” Mat bitterly said, leaning forward in his seat. He caught Neil’s bewildered gaze, his eyes soft and comforting — and Neil couldn’t help but feel dread tugging at him.

“Where’s Andrew?” he said again.

“He got out of surgery a while ago,” Matt said. “He’s… Neil, it’s pretty bad.”

“But he’s alive,” Neil said, his voice even. He had to be, right? Andrew couldn’t die, he’d told him that himself. But he’d also been shot. And he’d been unconscious. Andrew’d lied to him before; could he have lied about that, too?

Matt sighed. “How’s your shoulder?”

Neil frowned at him, following Matt’s gaze to his own arm, only to realize it was in a sling. He moved it, wincing slightly at the dull throb he felt in response. “I barely feel it,” he said, eyes flicking back up to Matt. “Andrew told me he couldn’t die. That you guys are immortal.”

“We are,” Matt said. “Honestly, Neil, we don’t know what’s going on. His body shouldn’t have reacted the way it did. It shouldn’t have been… impacted like that, not by something like a car crush.” He paused. “It’s never happened before.”

“An awful lot of things haven’t happened before,” Neilsnapped, pulling himself up into a sitting position. The motion caused for pain to shoot down his arm, and he slowed down, feeling the anger seep out of him. “How bad is he?”

Matt gave him a sympathetic look. “Bad. But he should pull through.”

“I want to see him.”

“Frankly, Neil, you should be resting,” Matt said, his voice gentle. Neil glared at him; but something in the way Matt looked at him, eyes old and full of subdued hurt, made his glare waver.

“Matt?” His voice mellowed, ginger. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Matt said, but his voice was shaky. Neil realized with a start that there were tears running down his friend’s cheeks. Matt seemed to realize that too, because he wiped them away, letting his head hang low. “You scared the hell out of me, you know.”

Guilt washed over Neil. “Matt—”

“I know I should be used to that, by now,” he said, lifting his head to look at Neil. His eyes were red. “You’re my best friend, Neil. I know it must sound weird to you, because you haven’t even known me for a month — but it’s true. And I know you and Andrew are having it tough, I— I can’t deny that.” He took a deep breath. “But every time you come around, I’m scared one day I’ll wake up in the morning, and something like this would happen.”

Neil opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t know what to say.

Matt ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck, Neil, I was sure you’d died again.”

“I didn’t,” Neil said. “Matt, I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Matt let out a laugh, strained and sudden. Neil looked at him with concern.

“They had to put you under,” Matt told him, his voice miserable. “You kept waking up thinking you were in your father’s basement. You kicked a nurse in the face when she tried to relocate your shoulder. Broke her nose.”

Neil paled. “I don’t remember that.”

“It’s probably for the better,” Matt said. He rubbed his face. “You’re so far from okay, Neil. You realize that?”

“Matt, it’s fine,” Neil told him. “I’m not in danger or anything. I’m dealing with it.”

“Have you tried talking to Betsy?” Matt said. When Neil gave him a funny look he added, “she’s the team’s therapist. She can help you.”

“I doubt it,” Neil dryly said.

“She knows about us,” Matt said. “We all talk to her, from time to time. And she’s helped Andrew, when you were… you know.”

Neil looked away. “I’m fine, Matt. I don’t need help.”

“You’re so stubborn,” Matt said, a frustrated edge to his voice. “Both of you. Andrew doesn’t want any of us helping, either. I mean, I don’t know what we could do — but he doesn’t even let us _try_.”

“Matt, I don’t—“

“He thinks he’s the only one who cares,” Matt said. “But he isn’t. I want you to know that.”

Neil gave him a dry look. “What do you want me to do about it? I’d love to be as immortal as you guys, but I’m not.”

He suddenly remembered Riko’s words. He was on his ninth life. Sooner or later, it would be over.

He rubbed his temple, at the spot where Riko’s almost shot him. He’s known he was mortal; his father, his mother and the rest of the world wouldn’t let him forget. He’d had no illusions he was going to live forever. Hell, it wasn’t all that long ago that he’d been certain his days were numbered.

And yet, they all seemed to want him to live forever. But he hadn’t been born to live forever. Sometimes, it didn’t completely register that he hadn’t died in that basement.

Neil sank in his bed, careful with his shoulder. It didn’t hurt much, but he still didn’t want to jostle it. “I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

Matt smiled at him, and despite his mess of emotions, Neil found himself reassured by the gesture. “I’ll let the nurse know you woke up.”

He got up and left the room. A few minutes later a nurse came in, checked his vitals, asked him a few questions and scribbled something on a clipboard. She told him to get some rest, and left.

Neil obediently waited ten minutes. When he was sure nobody else was going to come in, he tore out his IV line and threw the blanket off of him. He was a little wobbly, getting off the bed; they must’ve given him something for the pain. His head, too, was still cloudy.

He got his footing under him and made his way to the door. He peeked out, checking to see if anyone familiar was going to recognize him leaving. When he determined the coast clear, he quietly opened it, slipped out, and started down the hall.

He had no idea how to even start looking for Andrew. And then he spotted Aaron — standing by a vending machine, yawning as he slipped a dollar into it. Neil walked over to him.

“I’ll give you five bucks if you tell me where Andrew is.”

Aaron jerked back, elbow hitting the machine. “The fuck are you doing out of bed?”

Neil looked at him innocently. “Looking for Andrew.”

Aaron looked to the sides, before his attention landed back on Neil. “They aren’t letting visitors in yet.”

“And I care,” Neil flatly said. “You know where he is or not?”

Aaron hesitated, before letting out a long sigh. He pointed to a different corridor and said, “third door on the right.”

Neil nodded at him and followed Aaron's directions. He stopped in front of the closed door and looked in through its window.

Andrew was sleeping, as still and pale as the dead. His head was bandaged, and there was a monitor showing a steady heartbeat, beating and beating, beating and beating. Neil let out an exhale, leaning his forehead against the door’s window.

Andrew didn’t look softer in sleep. Neil guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was Andrew, after all; he was made of rough edges, anger and violence. He didn’t look like someone who would sleep easy. If anything, he looked like he was better off being awake; looking at him like this, with his defenses missing, Neil could see a clear picture of an old pain. The kind that was permanent.

Neil felt his mind going blank. It was his fault, he realized.

And it wasn’t just Andrew. All any of his friends had to do for him to see it was look at him long enough. Matt had said it. They were all hurting because of him, waiting and waiting for him to go and break their hearts again.

Neil suddenly understood Andrew’s hesitation back at Evermore, when Riko had pressed a gun to his head and taunted him. Neil didn’t think he could understand Andrew’s position, not really; he didn’t remember enough, hadn’t lived the kind of life that Andrew had. But he could get the waiting; his whole life, all he’s even done was wait for the day he would bite the dust.

Twenty years of that have been hell. A whole eternity?

“For someone who keeps dying, you sure are hard to kill,” someone said from behind him. Neil’s whole body jerked and he whirled around, only to see someone he didn’t recognize looking back.

Neil’s brow creased. “Do I know you?”

“I supposed not,” said the guy. Neil tensed when he pulled an envelope out of his pocket, holding it out for him. “My name’s Jean. Riko sent me. He would’ve come himself, but he’s not doing very well.”

Neil’s eyes went ice cold as he glared at the envelope. “What is this?”

“How’s Andrew?” said Jean. He peeked over Neil’s shoulder into the room, something disconcerted in his eyes. “I didn’t know that could happen. You were the target, you know.”

Neil’s face slackened. “What?”

“End the curse, and we can go back,” Jean said. He shook his head. “I don’t get them, honestly. It’s been long enough for us to move on, but they don’t listen. They’re bitter.”

Neil’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“The curse,” Jean said, a curious tinge to his voice. “I thought you know about it, this time around. Didn’t any of them tell you?”

“Tell me _what_?” Neil snapped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jean glanced into Andrew’s room again, his expression contemplative. He held up the envelope, looking once again at Neil. “You have the ability to remember. You can figure it out.”

Neil’s first thought was to punch Jean and set his envelope on fire. But something made him hesitate. “You know why this is happening.”

“I do,” admitted Jean. “They know too. Your friends, I mean. They’re just scared that if they told you, you’d combust where you stand.”

Neil’s mouth went dry. “Can that happen?”

“Maybe,” Jean said, shrugging. “But don’t you want to know the truth?”

Neil took the envelope, warily examining it. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m just fulfilling orders,” Jean said. “But I do think they’re beating around the bush too much. There’s a point where everything must end; don’t you think?”

Neil didn’t reply. Jean sighed, put his hands in his pockets, and turned away.

When he was out of Neil’s line of sight, Neil tore open the envelope, looking inside to see two small, red pills. There was also a note. He took it out and read it.

_Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream._

Neil put the note back in the envelope. He looked around him, his eyes landing on the elevator.

Like hell he was going to wait to be discharged. He didn’t know how it was possible, seeing as everybody thought it wasn’t, but Andrew had almost died because of him. If he waited any longer, either he, Andrew or them both would suffer the consequences — and Neil wasn’t having it.

On the way out of the hospital, Neil grabbed a long-coat that was hanging abandoned on the back of a chair. He put it on, shoved the envelope into its inside pocket and buttoned it up as he left the building.

He was going to the only place where he knew he’d be safe. He would figure out what had gone wrong, way back when.

And then he would fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a chapter count, but honestly it's just an estimation. What I plan to write and what I actually write rarely match up, so, yeah.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading! <3


	13. Chapter 12

Neil slipped in between the gates, cringing as the sound of them shutting echoed in the air. He glanced behind him, then to his sides, and finally sighed when he saw nobody but him.

He treaded the naturally-made dirt path, hand hovering over the leaves of flowers and plants, almost touching but not quite. He didn’t spare them any looks, though; his eyes scoured the garden around him, looking for something. For someone.

Whom he’s finally found, leaning against the trunk of a tall, massive tree, surrounded by patches of shiny green grass. Neil hastened his pace, skittering to a stop right in front of him, a grin plastered on his face. “Hey.”

Andrew gave him a dry look. “Took you long enough.”

“Excuse me for not thinking you’d go _here_ ,” Neil said. “You weren’t exactly being clear, you know. It wasn’t my first guess.”

“You need to take a class in the art of subtlety,” Andrew said, crossing his arms. He lifted his eyes, hazel and bright, to Neil’s; there was something soft in them, despite his harsh facade. They weren’t sad.

Neil internally started. Where had _that_ thought come from? But he dismissed it, focusing back on Andrew. “Maybe I need you to spell things out for me.”

“Well, alright, _Neil_ ,” Andrew said, a smirk lacing the edge of his lips. “When you have free time, come and see me in the Garden — you know, that place where we shouldn’t go because the man upstairs has a sore spot for it? Because I so want everybody to know that we enjoy defiling holy places. Repeatedly.”

Neil’s face practically lit on fire from how fast it turned red. “Okay, maybe not like _that_.”

“Do demonstrate what you meant,” Andrew wryly said. Neil rolled his eyes, shoved him back against the tree, and leaned in.

“I want to kiss you,” he said into his ear, grinning when he felt Andrew bristling. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Andrew said, and Neil kissed him. He instantly sank in a blanket of _familiar_ — the shape of Andrew’s mouth, the texture of his lips, the way his body felt against Neil’s. As Andrew pulled him even closer by his tunic, and kissed him even harder, and grabbed his neck like it was a rope out of sea, Neil just melted into that sensation that felt like coming home. He liked kissing Andrew.

Nobody but him ever really understood _why_ he did; none of them got it. Allison thought they did it to spite the big guy. Aaron thought they were releasing stress, or something idiotic like that. Matt thought Neil felt lonely.

But it wasn’t any of those things. Sure, Neil didn’t like the rules and the stupid perfection expectations, and being with Andrew did make him feel less alone, but it wasn’t _because_ of that; it was because…

Andrew bit his lip and Neil thought, _it’s because he gets me_.

Neil didn’t think he could trace it back to one specific time or place. He and Andrew hadn’t just woken up one day and thought, _you know what could be fun? Breaking rules_. Well, maybe Andrew did, Neil didn’t know; but with him, it’s been something else. Something he hadn’t realized, at first.

The feeling of Andrew pressed against him morphed and dulled, and Neil was suddenly sitting on the edge of a cloud, looking down at a village bustling underneath. Matt had asked him to replace him on watch duty this week; the ducks have been acting up lately, and Matt was the only one who could really get them under control. And it wasn’t like Neil could say no, you know? The ducks could take over the place in an evening, if Matt weren’t there and they really set their minds to it. So for the sake of the establishment, he’d agreed.

Neil liked watch duty, anyway. There was something fascinating about watching the people, clueless and small and careless, go about their emptily busy lives. He could sit there, leaning back against a soft cloud and looking down at them for days on end, and not even notice the time passing.

Time passed different there. Once Neil got watching, he’d get immersed in it; track people, their affairs and mishaps, and feel an awful lot about the different things that went down. He could watch the rise and fall of a king, and look up to see hardly a day has passed. Or he could try to understand why a merchant was so mad at their customer, feel like at _least_ an eternity had gone by, only to look up and see that the sun was at the exact same place in the sky.

Things _happened_ down there. There was a liveliness radiating from everything any of them did. They built shelter and made food; talked, sang, made friends. Most fascinating of all, though, was the way they so easily seemed to fall in love.

Neil didn’t get it, at first. Things like that just didn’t happen up here; but down there, it spread like a plague, as common as life itself. It made sense, if Neil really thought about it. But it wasn’t just about procreating.

Right now, he could see a young man bringing his girl a bouquet of wild flowers, vibrant with color. The girl ecstatically jumped to him and just… kissed him. Neil found himself slightly reddening, as if invading on a moment that wasn’t his own; but he didn’t want to look away. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t.

The notion just implemented itself in his mind. Caring for someone more than for your own life. Loving someone. It’s not that he _wanted_ that, per se, but more that it captivated him. He thought back about the man upstairs, the ruler of it all, capital-G God, and tried to compare and contrast.

For the first time, he started having doubts.

He didn’t go looking for a lover, it would’ve been idiotic. And suicidal, probably. No, he didn’t go looking.

Andrew and him have always been close, for whatever reason. Neil liked to think it was because they were on the same frequency. They’ve had their fair share of problems, don’t get him wrong; Neil vividly remembered a night wherein Andrew had almost thrown him off a cloud because the sight of him had made Andrew angry. And back then, Neil hadn’t liked him much, either. But like it or not, they had an understanding.

The daylight shifted, and Neil found himself sitting with his legs dangling off the same cloud, Andrew sitting right next to him. He was staring straight ahead, and Neil got to take a good look at his face; the way the white light hit the bridge of his nose, revealing faint freckles; his pale blond hair, at first glance unkempt but at a closer inspection, intentionally arranged; the color of his lips, red, red, red.

And the craziest thought popped into Neil’s head.

“Andrew,” he said, before the filter in his head stirred to life. Andrew looked to him with those hazel eyes, and Neil’s filter was kicked out and thrown off a cloud. “I want to kiss you.”

Andrew stared at him.

Neil shifted uncomfortably, suddenly uncertain. “If you’d like to, I mean. You can not like to if you don’t. I mean if you don’t want me to kiss you then that’s completely fine—“

Andrew shut him up with a single look. Neil bit his lower lip, his face heating up. “You know what, forget I said anything.”

“Yes,” Andrew said. Neil blinked.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes to me kissing you?” Neil said again. Andrew let out a short sigh, grabbed him by the hem of his tunic, and smashed his lips into Neil’s.

And that was when Neil completely forgot how he used to breathe.

His eyes slipped shut of themselves, and he got lost in the feeling. It was like learning to fly all over again.

When he blinked his eyes back open, he was pressing Andrew against the Tree in the Garden, and they were both kissing each other and trying to get rid of each other’s clothes. Andrew shifted, and Neil stumbled, pulling Andrew after him so he wouldn’t have to stop kissing him. He liked this feeling. He could get drunk on it.

His tunic met the ground when the distinct, ringing sound of the gates opening echoed in the air. Neil and Andrew both froze, heads snapping in the gates’ direction; they couldn’t yet see who’s walked in, but they still couldn’t be seen. Nobody could count the amount of times they’ve been reminded that no matter how engrossed they’d gotten in the people’s lives, they couldn’t mimic their behaviors. There was a reason the people were down there, and they, up here.

Nobody’s ever been caught betraying that trust. The reason for that was simple: because nobody wanted to know what would happen if they had.

Neil looked to Andrew, who swiftly changed their positions so that Neil wasn’t the first thing somebody would see coming in.

“We need to get out of here,” Neil whispered, feeling his heartbeat rising in his temples. Andrew glanced around them.

There was a flap of air and Andrew’s wings spread out from where they’d been hidden under his shoulder-blades. Andrew grabbed Neil and jumped up, landing on a high branch. A branch Neil nearly tipped off of.

“Give me a little warning!” he quietly exclaimed, balancing himself between branches. “Also, you know I have wings too. You don’t need to go all macho on me.”

Andrew gave him a flat look. “Be faster about it next time, then.”

Neil grinned. “There’s a next time?”

“That depends,” Andrew said. Neil tilted his head. “If you keep blabbering and they find us, I doubt they’d let us near each other again.”

Now it was Neil’s turn to give Andrew a flat look. “You’re very funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Andrew said. He pulled Neil to him and put a hand over his mouth, gesturing down at where a figure could be seen walking toward the Tree. Andrew lowered his voice so that Neil felt it more than heard it. “It’s Riko.”

Neil would’ve groaned out loud had Andrew’s hand not stifled the sound. He tried to force out a reply, but it, too, got muffled out. Neil scowled.

Andrew’s eyes intently traced Riko’s movement. The idiot wouldn’t look up, Neil was sure of that; so they were basically safe. Riko would do whatever he’s come here to do, go away, and then Andrew and Neil would pick up right where they’d left off.

Neil felt Andrew stiffen against him.

Neil followed Andrew’s gaze and promptly felt his heart drop to his stomach. Riko stood right below them, Neil’s tunic in his hand.

They weren’t fast enough. Because then, Riko looked up.

Neil’s world swirled again and he was suddenly on his knees in a massive hall, two fellow angels clutching his shoulders and a third one holding a scythe to his throat. Neil looked up at the literal sun.

Okay, yeah, it wasn’t the sun, but it was damn near bright enough.

“This is ridiculous!” he yelled, pulling against the hands holding him. “You can’t kick out everyone just because I—“

“You’ve made an example of your kind,” said the big man himself, capital-G God. “You’ve all been made to be the same. Have the same values. To be loyal.”

“That’s bullshit,” Neil snapped. “We’re clearly all different. You can’t expect us all to act the same. Hell, if you want to punish me, then go right ahead!” His voice rose. “Just don’t drag anyone else into this!”

“Don’t fret, Nathaniel,” He said. “Your punishment will come. But you have shown me that I’ve made you flawed. Once I’m proven differently, they may all return.”

“And how are they supposed to do _that_?” Neil said, a mocking tinge to his voice.

“As for you,” He continued, ignoring Neil’s inquiry, “I’ll give you what you’ve wanted.”

Neil blinked, his mind going empty. His eyes narrowed. “And what’s that.”

“To live a human life,” He replied. “But, as I’m sure you’ve witnessed, there’s more to the human experience than just to live and to love.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Think, Nathaniel,” said He. “You’ve watched countless people live their entire lives. And there’s hardly only one side to them.”

“They hate,” Neil said, thinking of a woman cheated on by her husband, of a man disowned. Then, he paled. “They die.”

The silence he got in return was telling enough.

“So you’re going to drop me down there, strip me off my wings and leave me there to die,” Neil said. “While the rest of them get to keep on living.”

“Close, but not quite,” said God. “You will be born a man, and once the time is right, you will meet Andrew again.” Neil couldn’t help but feel relieved to hear that. “But all things must end. It’s the way it all works. And so, you will die young. Then you shall be reborn, and the same will happen. And again, and again, in an infinite loop.”

Neil’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that. Andrew—”

“Andrew will watch you die,” said He. “And he will learn his lesson.”

“No, you can’t do that!” Neil yelled, pulling against those holding him down. “It’s _my_ fault, it was _my_ idea! I don’t care what happens do me, I fucking deserve it, okay? But don’t— just— please, just leave him out of this.”

“What do you think he would say to that?”

Neil’s face scrunched up heatedly. “He’s an idiot, it doesn’t matter what he’d say. The facts are that he doesn’t fucking _deserve_ what you’re giving him.”

“Let’s make it simple, then,” He said. “If comes a time, wherein he meets you and doesn’t love you as he has, this will all stop.”

Neil blinked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” said that. “The cycle will rapture, and all the angels will be welcomed back.”

“You’re just shooting yourself in the foot, then,” Neil said. “He doesn’t love me like that.”

“In that case, we’ll see how it plays out.”

At that moment, the massive doors to the hall opened. Neil strained to look back, seeing Andrew storming in, seething.

“Good, you’re right on time,” God said. “You’ve all heard the conditions. Now, let it start.”

Andrew stopped dead in his place.

Neil turned confused eyes back forward. “What—“

But then the scythe pulled away from his throat, settling at a clean, measured distance away. Neil’s heart dropped.

“No,” Andrew said from somewhere behind him. Neil could hear the flap of his wings spreading out; but it was no use, he wouldn’t make it in time. “No, stop, _stop_!”

Andrew’s voice broke — a vicious, grating sound that Neil wished he’d never hear again. But then his eyes fixed on the scythe, inches from his head, and he regretted wishing that in the first place.

But it was too late. There was no going back.

The last thing Neil heard was Andrew screaming, and then everything went out.

***

Neil was falling. There was wind in his hair, punching at his clothes, his breath getting lost and catching on. He was screaming, he couldn’t help it; he could see the ground, coming closer, closer, closer, and he braced for the impact.

And then something slowed down his fall, catching onto the back of his shirt. He was almost completely stopped when he was dropped on the ground.

For a few long moments, the only thing he registered was his own heavy breathing. He was breathing. He was still breathing.

Neil sat up and patted himself down, looking for broken bones. There were none. He looked around him. A few feet away from him, leaning back against the side of a the ravine, was a panting Andrew.

 _What_.

How the fuck did Andrew get down here?

Neil opened his mouth to ask that, but couldn’t get the words out. His mouth closed. He stared at Andrew, who met his eyes.

“The fuck are you?” Neil asked.

Andrew let out a breathless laugh. Neil startled; he’s never heard Andrew laugh. Not once since they’d met, two years ago. Andrew just wasn’t the kind of person who laughed. But he was laughing now; arm curled around his middle, head pulled back against the stones behind him, chest spasming with it.

He was laughing like he was losing his mind.

Frankly, Neil was slightly terrified. “Andrew? Are you alright?”

Andrew’s laugh died down into a breathless wheeze, and then that mellowed out into silence. Andrew stayed in the same position, only now, his eyes were closed.

Neil waited for him to say something, but that didn’t happen. “Andrew, what’s wrong?”

“You need to watch where you walk,” Andrew said, his voice level and steady. There was no trace of what’s just happened. “You almost went splat.”

“I’m still not sure I didn’t,” Neil said, looking around him once again. He looked up at the space over him. There was nothing that could’ve softened his fall; not without just splatting him earlier, anyway.

Neil squinted. “I’m so confused.”

“That’s good,” Andrew said. “That’s good. Be confused. I’m leaving.”

Neil’s attention snapped back to him, only to see him pushing himself off of the stone. “What do you mean, you’re _leaving_? We’re in a _ravine_. Where the hell are you planning on going?”

“Somewhere that isn’t here,” Andrew said, starting to walk away from Neil. Neil scrambled onto his feet and ran after him.

“Andrew, wait a second,” he said. His foot caught against a rock and he stumbled, barely keeping himself from falling over. “Andrew, how did you even get here?”

“I jumped.”

“You’re hilarious,” Neil deadpanned. “And I flew down here with all the grace of an angel. Come on, Andrew. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I literally just did,” Andrew said. “Do you need me to say it again? I jumped.”

 _Again, again_. Something clicked in Neil’s head, and all of the sudden, he realized he was dreaming.

He stopped in his place. He remembered locking himself in his room in Fox Tower — Andrew hadn’t been there, Andrew was still in the hospital, right? He remembered lying down on his bed. Staring at that note. Holding those red pills in his hand.

He’d swallowed the pills dry. He’s fallen asleep almost instantly; and then— and then—

Neil looked around him. He was dreaming. But at some point, this had been real. Which meant that what happened before that—

He grabbed Andrew’s shoulder; it was a reflex more than anything else. The moment he did, both he and Andrew froze.

“You fell,” Neil said. A headache sliced through his head, and he let go, his hand spasming. He stumbled back, right in time when Andrew whirled around, looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Neil’s hand went to his forehead. “You lied to me. You said you didn’t— didn’t—“ he let out a gasp as the headache turned from bad into excruciating.

“Neil,” Andrew said, starting forward. Neil’s gaze snapped up to him, wide and bewildered and scared. His head felt like it was trying to crush into itself.

He remembered the previous time he’d become lucid, during the dream — no, it had been a memory — from France. He hadn’t been able to control anything, back then. Hadn’t been able to change anything. He’d gotten a headache when he’d tried; but it hadn’t been _this_ bad, and more importantly, it had been for naught.

“You said you didn’t fucking love me,” Neil managed to say between gritted teeth. “But you do, don’t—“ he let out another weak gasp and collapsed to his knees. Andrew stood frozen in his place, staring at him. “That’s why this keeps _happening_.”

Neil’s vision was flickering in and out. He knew what dying felt like. This was worse.

“Just let— let me _go_ ,” Neil said. He forced his vision to focus and looked at Andrew, right into his eyes. They haven’t always been this sad. “Just let me _go_ , you fucking asshole.”

Andrew seemed to snap back into reality, and he rushed to Neil’s side. “What’s happening?”

“I— I—“ _I’m remembering_ , Neil wanted to say. _I’m trying to fix this_. But he didn’t have the breath to get that out. His vision blacked out; when he became aware again, he was lying on the ground, his head perched in Andrew’s lap. Neil wanted to cry. It hurt so bad.

“Shh,” Andrew said, brushing Neil’s hair back from his face. Neil’s eyes went in and out of focus. “You’re okay, Neil. You’re okay.”

Something that had been clenched hard in his jaw slackened. Neil’s vision went out of focus completely. He couldn’t see anything through the haze of pain in his head; and he knew, deep down inside, that this was beyond just the memory.

Because it wasn’t just a memory anymore. He has stepped into it.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew said, his voice low and empty. “This is my fault. I’ve tried, Neil. But I can’t fix it.”

Neil’s eyes slipped shut. He couldn’t see anything anymore, anyway. Andrew’s voice hardly reached him. He tried to wake up, but he couldn’t; trying only made the headache worse.

He let out a weak whimper. He was going to die here.

“Shh,” Andrew muttered, softly pressing his lips to Neil’s forehead. Neil held onto that sensation like to a lifeline; it was the only thing that kept him from fading. “You’re okay, Neil. You’re okay. It’ll be over soon.”

 _No_ , Neil wanted to say. _No, I don’t want it to end. Not like this._

But he’s never had a say in anything that happened to him. He hadn’t had it back then, and he didn’t have it now.

At least Andrew will finally have the chance to move on. Neil took comfort in that.

And then he was gone.

***

Neil didn’t wake up from that dream. Instead, his heartbeat slowed down; his breathing stuttered. His body spasmed.

And then it was over.

His muscles slackened. His chest fell still. From the outside, it would’ve seemed as if he’d gone peacefully. Died in his sleep.

But Neil had always been a liar. What was another make-believe?


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible medical inaccuracies.

Andrew startled awake, lashing out against the force of memories assaulting his mind. Memories that haven’t been there before.

He couldn’t have forgotten them. Andrew didn’t forget anything, ever; but right now, a place and a conversation and a death that haven’t happened overloaded his mind. But it _has_ happened. The memory solidified itself in his head, one as all the rest, and Andrew couldn’t remember what used to be in its place.

It was the lifetime before this one, he knew that with a harsh certainty. Andrew had saved Neil from dying in a fall, only for Neil to suddenly start saying things he wasn’t supposed to know.

Things he wasn’t supposed to know — but things that in _this_ lifetime, he might’ve had the chance to figure out.

Andrew paled and frantically scrambled off the bed, careless of his surroundings. An IV line pulled free from his arm, and machines started blaring around him; Andrew faintly registered that this was a hospital. This was a hospital. He was in a hospital?

That threw him for a loop, and he took a second to glance around at the white walls and the clean sheets and the hassle of the machines.

He didn’t have time to worry about why _he_ was in here. He had the worst kind of feeling that something was wrong.

Neil must’ve done something. Andrew was as sure of that as he was in the stars in the sky. The idiot must’ve found a way to travel back in goddamn time and ruin everything. Because there was no way in _hell_ Neil, from the lifetime before this one, could’ve ever found anything out.

Andrew burst out into the hallway, running straight into someone else. There was a sharp swear and something hot splashed on his hospital tunic. Andrew lifted a sharp glare to almost identical eyes.

“Where is he,” he snapped, looking over Aaron’s shoulder at the empty hallway. “Where’s Neil?”

“Probably in the room they gave him,” Aaron said, frowning at him. “Andrew, maybe you should—“

“Where’s his room,” Andrew said, pushing Aaron out of his way. Aaron briskly followed.

“This one—“

Andrew slammed open the door at which Aaron’s gestured and promptly halted in his place. Aaron came to a startled stop behind him, peeking in. The room was empty, no redheads in sight.

A heavy dread found its way into Andrew’s gut, and he swirled around and back into the hallway. “Give me your phone.”

Aaron, bewildered, fumbled in his pockets and handed him his phone. Andrew dialed Neil’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. Andrew threw it at the nearest wall without bothering to hang up. “I’m going after him.”

“Andrew, wait,” Aaron said, pulling him back by his shoulder. Andrew swirled, grabbed Aaron’s wrist and glowered at him. Aaron unabashedly looked back. “You almost _died_ ,” his brother hissed at him. “Do you realize what that means?”

“No,” Andrew said. “And I don’t care. I do know, however, that Neil’s out there somewhere, no doubt doing something colossally _idiotic._ ”

“He probably went out for a smoke or something,” Aaron suggested in a very reasonable tone.

Andrew gave him a vacant glare. “And I’m a raccoon.”

He then whirled around, spotted the elevator and started toward it.

“Where are you going? You don’t even know where he is!”

“He only has one place to go,” Andrew shot back. “If he wants to sleep.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes, baffled. “To _sleep_? Why would he— wait, I’m coming with you.“ He darted after Andrew, weaseling into the elevator right before it closed. Andrew crossed his arms, staring ahead at the closed doors as they started to descend.

“I’m not letting you waltz around the country on your own. You _just_ woke up, Andrew,” Aaron reprovingly said. “You’ve been out for the whole day. _Out_. As is not conscious. As in _dying_. From a mundane accident. Which is impossible.”

“Let’s worry about the impossible after we take care of the inevitable,” Andrew replied. “The inevitable being Neil being stupid and managing to somehow get himself killed.”

“By sleeping,” Aaron dryly said. “That sounds plausible.”

Andrew looked to him. “You don’t know him.”

“I do, actually,” Aaron said. “And that’s a stretch. Even for him.”

“Then I’ll just yell at him for being a stupid idiot,” Andrew replied. “Fucking humor me.”

Aaron let out a long-suffering sigh. The elevator stopped; Andrew was already halfway across the lobby by the time the doors finished opening, Aaron running after him.

They broke out into the parking lot, at which Andrew suddenly stopped in his place, narrow eyes searching it.

“Your car’s not here,” Aaron said. “It got wrecked in the accident.”

Andrew was completely still for a long moment, before he suddenly moved, as if to take his shirt off. Aaron was there in a millisecond to stop him.

“Whoa, in broad daylight?” He wrestled Andrew’s hands for a while before that gave up and stepped away, glaring at him.

“It’s fastest,” he said.

“And we’re in a public place,” Aaron said. Andrew’s eyes flicked to the people walking around the parking lot, not paying them any attention. Aaron sighed again and gestured for a different car — small, compact and painted an intense shade of pink. “Katelyn let me take her car when I heard what happened,” he explained, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Andrew stared at the car in horror. “I’m not getting into that monstrosity.”

“You’re more than welcome to walk.”

They stared each other down for a few long seconds before Andrew scoffed and stomped over to the car. Aaron nodded to himself, unlocked it from a distance and followed.

“Where to?” he asked Andrew once both of them settled down.

“Fox Tower,” Andrew said. And they were off.

Andrew’s steady glower had Aaron getting them there in record time. Andrew didn’t even wait for him to turn off the engine before he climbed out of the car and scurried into the building; Aaron, scrambling to get out, let out a faint swear and hurried after him.

Andrew gave the broken elevator a dirty look and dashed up the stairs, Aaron two or three steps behind him. Aaron finally caught up to him when Andrew opened the door to his room.

They both halted, Aaron nearly crashing into Andrew. Andrew had been right. Neil was really here, sound asleep in his own bed.

“Junkie, wake up,” Andrew called out, stalking over to Neil’s bed. Neil didn’t stir; the air suddenly heavied down. “Neil.”

Andrew crouched next to the bed and put a hand in the air over Neil’s mouth. Aaron tentatively walked in.

Andrew’s hand pressed to Neil’s neck, waiting. Then Andrew grabbed Neil’s wrist. Aaron saw the moment Andrew stilled.

“Neil,” Andrew said. He put a hand to Neil’s neck again.

“Get him on the floor,” Aaron said, skittering to Andrew’s side. Andrew didn’t act like he was hearing him, so he did it himself; he dragged Neil off the bed, careful with his head, and started chest compressions. It seemed to shake Andrew off his stupor, and that flinched away as if electrocuted.

“Give him two breaths,” Aaron told him after a short while, not slowing down. Andrew complied; he pulled Neil’s head back, blocked his nose and breathed into his mouth. After the same amount of time, Aaron repeated the command, and Andrew did that again.

“Switch with me,” Aaron said after a few minutes wherein Neil hasn’t stirred. He and Andrew swiftly exchanged positions, Andrew compressing while Aaron periodically gave Neil air. The crackle of a bone breaking echoed in the air.

“Don’t— fucking— do this,” Andrew hissed in time with the compressions, a pinched expression on his face. “I’ll drag— you out— of hell— if I fucking— have to.” Another crackle. “And then— I’ll kill— you again— for the fucking— trouble.”

Neil gave a sudden, full body flinch and sharply inhaled.

“Stop, stop,” Aaron said, gesturing Andrew to stop. Andrew hesitantly did, lifting his hands. They both watched with hawk eyes as Neil’s chest rose and fell. Andrew grabbed Neil’s wrist, checking for a pulse, and felt all the wind go out of him when he felt it.

It was faint, but it was there.

Andrew let out a long exhale, head dropping and shoulders sagging. Aaron leaned back against the floor, letting out a similarly relieved breath.

“I’ll go call 911,” Aaron belatedly said, climbing back onto his feet. “Make sure he keeps breathing.”

A small nod was Andrew’s only response, that refusing to look away from the rise and fall of Neil’s chest. The sound of Aaron’s footsteps receded as he left, the faint sound of his voice trailing after him.

Then Neil’s eyes owlishly blinked open, and he let out a quiet groan. Andrew felt something unravel in his chest.

“‘ndrew?” Neil mumbled, finding Andrew’s eyes. “W’s wron’?”

“What’s wrong, he asks,” Andrew muttered, letting out another heavy exhale. “Don’t fucking do that, you stupid fucking _idiot_.”

Neil squinted at him, his hands going to his chest. His face pinched. “Ow.”

That seemed to sober Andrew up a bit. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a truck.” Neil’s eyes widened minutely, and then he squeezed them shut. “I think imma be sick,” he muttered.

Andrew got up and quickly fetched the nearest trash bin. And just in time, too; he barely got it to Neil before that emptied his stomach’s contents into it. Neil’s body spasmed as he coughed out spit and bile, along with something red.

Andrew perked in alarm. “Is that—“

“It’s not blood,” Neil gritted between his teeth, pushing the bin away from him. He was sitting now, hunched and with both arms protectively curled around his middle. He squeezed his eyes shut again. “Riko gave me these pills.”

Andrew should’ve realized earlier that it was all Riko’s fault. _Especially_ after what had happened in Evermore. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, opening his eyes to look at him. They were slightly bloodshot, hooded with something that might’ve come from being pulled back from the brink of death. Or from something else. “I know what happened.”

Andrew blinked at him.

“I saw what happened. Up there, I mean. I know what you are.” He dropped his gaze. “What I used to be.”

Andrew quietly observed his face; Neil’s closed his eyes again. He was still talking, though. “I think I accidentally projected myself into another version of me.”

“From the last lifetime,” Andrew said. That had Neil looking to him in surprise, and Andrew added, “I was there.”

Neil unclenched his jaw. “I guess you were.”

They fell into a thin silence, Neil studying the floor and Andrew studying Neil.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Neil suddenly said. Andrew hesitated.

“I do.”

“I know it was. Kind of. Kind of sudden,” Neil said. His brow furrowed, but his gaze was still fixed on the floor between them. “You said you couldn’t stop it. But you could. All this time.” _Now_ he looked to him, and Andrew wished he hadn’t, because the resignation in there didn’t belong with Neil. “You could end it right now, if you really wanted to.”

Andrew stilled. “You think I haven’t tried.”

“He said it would end once you’d stop loving me.” Neil huffed to himself, his head inclining farther down. “You should be hating me right now, for everything I made you go through. It should’ve stopped on its own. At _some_ point. Haven’t you had enough?”

Andrew found himself at a loss for words. Neil pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them. “I would’ve hated you, if I were in your place.”

“I do hate you,” Andrew said. “Sometimes, I wish we’ve never met. You made me hate my own existence.”

Neil hummed.

“But it doesn’t change anything,” Andrew continued. Neil lifted his eyes to him, quiet and level. Andrew caught his gaze and held it, and thought that his eyes, even while burdened, looked prettier than the ocean. “I can’t just turn off what’s inside of me.”

“You should’ve let me die,” Neil said. “Now. Today. Just gotten it over with.”

“Is that what you wanted?”

Neil let out a breathless laugh and pressed his forehead to his knees once again. “Of course not. I don’t want to die. But I don’t want you to keep looking over your shoulder, waiting for it to happen.” He took a deep breath. “I broke everything, I know that. If I hadn’t… I started it. I asked you to kiss me, back then. For the first time.”

“And I wanted you to,” Andrew said. “I wouldn’t have let you kiss me if I didn’t. You didn’t put a knife to my throat and forced me to love you.”

“I might as well have.”

“You didn’t,” Andrew insisted. “It’s as much my fault as it is yours. And I need you to understand that I wouldn’t take it back.”

Neil’s head snapped up, eyes sharply turning to him. “You can’t really believe that.”

Andrew shrugged. “It was worth it.”

“I don’t think it was.”

“You can think whatever you want,” Andrew said. “But I’m telling you the truth. You were—“ he cut himself off and fell quiet for a long moment. Neil waited. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Neil’s expression softened.

“I—I’ve made some mistakes,” Andrew said, his voice raw. “Some really bad mistakes. But if I had to choose, right now, between going through it all again or never having had you in the first place, I’d do it again.”

“Andrew—“

“I’ve done everything I could do to stop it,” Andrew said. “The one thing I couldn’t was the one thing that would’ve. But there would be no curse if there were an easy way out.”

“There is an easy out,” Neil said. “Now.”

Andrew’s mind flashed back to that day, decades and decades ago, when he’d have jumped at the opportunity; and to the many days before that, and the days after that, when he would’ve considered it. But today wasn’t like that. Because it was one thing to try — and another entirely to know, for sure, that if he did it, there would be no going back.

He didn’t want it to end like that. Not like that. Not when there was a chance — a chance, whatever small chance, whatever had made Neil remember in the first place for the first time since he’d first died — to make it _right_.

He was going to make it right, or die trying.

“It’s going to be okay,” Andrew told Neil. Neil sharply inhaled, inclined his head, and nodded.

“Can I kiss you?” he quietly said.

“Yes,” Andrew replied, and pulled him into a kiss.

They both closed their eyes and dissolved into the moment. Then Andrew opened his eyes, barely, and against Neil’s lips said, “maybe you should rinse out your mouth at some point.”

Neil hummed. He detached himself from Andrew with a small sigh and leaned his head against Andrew’s chest. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Andrew was quiet for a while, fingers threaded in Neil’s hair. “You’re welcome.”

***

The paramedics arrived a short time later and whisked Neil away to the nearest hospital to fix his ribs and supervise him. Andrew was sure Neil wasn’t eager for them to find out about him having ditched a different hospital not three hours ago.

Which Andrew, technically, also did. But he pretended that everything was alright.

It wasn’t. Now that everything has quieted down and Andrew was more or less assured that Neil wasn’t going to slip away right between his fingers, he started feeling the consequences of the car-crash. The cut on his head hurt; something inside him twisted and turned in ways it shouldn’t. His back felt like a bunch of legos ready to fall apart.

Once the paramedics cleared and Aaron was gone, having finished fretting over him, Andrew locked himself in the bathroom. He took off his shirt — he’s changed out of what he’d been wearing at the hospital — and let his wings go.

They released with a flap of air, and Andrew, looking in the mirror, almost had the air knocked out of him. He stared at their reflection with startled eyes.

The white feathers, dense and many, looked weak and wilted. The edges of a few of them were singed. When he ran a hand across one wing, a few feathers detached, sticking to his palm before floating down to the bathroom’s floor.

“What the hell,” Andrew whispered, twisting to try and catch a glimpse of his back. He couldn’t see it very clearly, but the situation at the base of his wings looked similar to what it was at their top: wilted, frail feathers, singed at the edges.

This was definitely not normal.

Andrew stared at the mirror for a long while, finding himself at a loss for what to do. Could it be related to what was going on with Neil? To the curse? They were nearing the finish line, he knew it; but this…

This was uncalled for. No warning, no nothing. He seemed to have just woken up vulnerable one day, with his wings damaged.

How long has this been going on, without him noticing?

He flapped his wings a few times, somewhat satisfied with their movement, and decided that he would deal with this later. For now, he collected them back so that they were hidden, tugged his shirt back on, and then picked up the feathers from the floor and threw them in the bin.

It was a bad sign, Andrew knew that. But he couldn’t worry about Neil _and_ himself at the same time. So for now, he was going to pretend that he was blind to these signs.

***

Neil managed to survive supervision at the hospital for a whole, entire week. Yay him.

Neil bitterly sucked on a plastic spoon, staring down at the empty jello cup with a fiery contempt. He was sick of this food. He was sick of this bed. He was sick of the white walls and the beeping machines and the everlasting, never-ending boredom.

Did he mention that it was eternal? Screw thousands of years; _now_ he knew what true, perpetual misery felt like. He was watching Spanish telenovelas, for fuck’s sake. People on the screen were constantly, randomly breaking into song. And he watched it, because there was literally _nothing_ else on this tiny TV. Not even exy.

Neil chewed on the spoon, leaning back against the cushions and looking at the screen without really paying attention. He couldn’t understand why they were keeping him here. He was _fine_ ; sure, his ribs were broken, and— okay, yeah, dying for a couple of minutes _was_ pretty bad, but he was alive now, wasn’t he? So what was the problem?

He flung his spoon at the screen at the same time the door opened.

“Glad to see you’re doing well,” said the doctor, amusement in her voice. Neil pulled himself up into a sitting position.

“I want to go home,” he said, not bothering with small talk. He was bored out of his goddamn mind. Not to mention that he needed to talk to Andrew. Or at least _see_ him. Andrew hasn’t come to visit him even once since what happened at the dorms.

“I know,” said the doctor. She brought forth a clipboard and examined something. “We’re probably going to let you go in a few hours, after the paperwork is finished,” she said, looking at him with serious eyes. “You’ve died, Neil. It’s a miracle that you’re awake and talking right now.”

It wasn’t a miracle — it was Andrew. But Neil stayed quiet.

“For now, it seems that you’re not suffering from any repercussions,” she continued. “But you should come in for a check-up at the first sign of something going wrong.” Yeah, no. “You should call someone to come pick you up, in the meantime.”

“I don’t have my phone.”

“The receptionist can call your emergency contact, then,” she said. Neil bit the inside of his cheek, and she tilted her head. “You don’t have an emergency contact?”

“Can’t I just get back on my own?” he said.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, considering what you’ve gone through,” she replied. “But if that’s what you want.”

Neil nodded. The doctor left with a promise of an oncoming discharge, and Neil was, once again, left to waddle in his thoughts.

He thought about what had happened, right before he’d temporarily bitten it. He wasn’t completely sure what exactly _had_ happened; he’d been dreaming, and then he hadn’t really been dreaming anymore. Like he’d woken up into his past self. Or become his past self.

Neil has only ever dreamed before. Remembered it, re-lived it, whatever. But this? Andrew remembered what he’d said, which meant that he’d really said it, just as much as anything else his past selves have said. But it wasn’t possible.

At least, Neil didn’t think it was. He didn’t really know what was and wasn’t possible. He only knew that all of this — him, now, human and living and having died countless times — it was all a mistake. None of it was supposed to happen.

He pushed the covers, getting off the bed with the intent to go to the bathroom, when a sudden wave of vertigo hit him. He stumbled, clutching the bed-frame. He blinked a couple times, trying to fend off this sensation, but it didn’t help — his vision flickered instead, and suddenly he was no longer standing in a hospital room.

He was crouching in front of a river-bank, submerging his hands in the cool water. Looking at the reflection in it, he saw Andrew; different but the same, standing behind him and looking down at him. He was saying something, but Neil couldn’t catch it, even though his mouth was moving to reply.

He blinked and the scene changed again. He was sitting in a library, Andrew’s Latin book open in front of him — no, Andrew said it was Neil’s book, didn’t he? He looked up, and again saw Andrew, who was, again, talking. And Neil was, again, replying, and smiling, but not registering.

The scene shifted again, and now he was leaning against a wall, absentmindedly playing with a wooden yo-yo.

“How are you entertained by this,” said a rough, familiar voice. Neil lifted his eyes, meeting Andrew’s.

“It passes the time,” he said, pulling his yo-yo up and gathering it into his palm, before shoving it in his pocket. “Not everyone is as busy as you are.”

“I’m not busy.”

“I barely see you around,” Neil said. “I get it. You think it’s funny. Kiss a guy, blow him off for a month."

Andrew leveled him a dry look. “I don’t think it’s funny.”

Neil shifted against the wall, craning his neck and dropping his eyes to him. “You can tell me if you’re not into me anymore, you know. I promise I won’t cry.”

Andrew gave a nod, eyes wandering as if he were thinking. “I did it on a whim.”

Neil cocked an eyebrow. “You asked me twice if I wanted you to kiss me. Didn’t feel like a whim.”

“It wouldn’t, but—” Andrew’s voice trailed. “Don’t expect anything to come out of this.”

“I guess that’s a no, then.”

A minuscule frown appeared in Andrew’s brow. “You asked a question?”

“Come to the ball,” Neil explained, head tilting. “With me. Next month.”

“I can’t.”

“See? A no, then. Didn’t even have to ask.”

Andrew sighed. “It’s complicated. I can’t. I’m—“

“—Not going to be here, yeah?” Neil cut him off. He then shrugged. “I figured. Just—“ he sighed. “Just tell me if it’s over or not, whatever it was that happened between us. I need to know.”

Andrew opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I don’t know.”

Neil blinked. “What kind of answer is that?”

“It’s an I don’t know.”

“It’s very helpful,” Neil dryly said. “Make up your mind.”

“I can’t,” Andrew said. He hesitated. “But I want to.”

Neil’s eyes glinted in curiosity. “Why can’t you?”

“Like I said. It’s complicated.”

“Explain it to me, then.”

Andrew gave him a look that Neil couldn’t decipher — closed off, conflicted. “I can’t.”

Neil let out a long exhale. “I don’t understand you.”

“Yes or no?”

Neil watched him for a moment. “It’s always yes with you.”

“Until it’s not.”

Neil tilted his head. “It’s a yes now.”

And Neil suddenly came into himself, registering that this was a memory — but before he could do anything, he blinked, and the scene dissipated around him. He was standing back in the white hospital room, the Spanish telenovela playing in the background, clutching onto the bed’s railing so hard he couldn’t feel his fingers.

He forced himself to release his hold, stepping away from the bed and blinking a few times. What— how did that just happen?

He glanced around him, bewildered. Did he just have a flashback?

He did. He just had a flashback, wide awake. Not sleeping, not dreaming, no nothing. This hasn’t happened before, has it?

He shook his head, which has cleared of the vertigo. He was going to be discharged soon; maybe once he saw Andrew again, everything would clear up. Maybe Andrew knew what was going on. Andrew always knew what was happening, didn’t he?

So Neil put off the matter to deal with later. It was only a memory, after all. He’s had plenty of those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neil's not dead! Who's surprised?  
> *crickets*
> 
> Anyhow! Thank you for reading. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter :)


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attack.

Neil wasn’t allowed to play exy.

For two months.

_At least_.

Neil dizzily made his way out of the hospital — having been cleared, this time, though a few days later than promised — but the dizziness had nothing to do with his medical condition. It felt like some kind of a fever dream. A nightmare. Yes, that was what it was. Either that, or everybody in this damned hospital was on drugs.

They were overreacting. He was a nineteen year old, pretty healthy, pretty sturdy guy. Yeah, okay, he might have died for a hot minute there, but he was fine _now_. He was walking fine; he could just as easily break into a run. Or into a house. And set it on fire. He was perfectly capable of doing that, because he wasn’t made of goddamned _glass_.

He could take being benched a week. Hell, he could take _two_ weeks. Even three! But two whole, entire months? With _no_ exy? And he wasn’t even allowed to jog in the upcoming weeks!

“I hate this!” Neil yelled, kicking a streetlight. He made a face at it, shoved his hands into his pockets, dropped his head and continued walking with a sulking, dark, hateful aura.

He was benched for two months. All because of a minor medical emergency. If only he could’ve explained to the staff _why_ it’d happened, they’d understand that there was no need to bench him.

It was just that he didn’t think anyone would believe him.

“Be more specific, Junkie,” a voice suddenly said from his left. Neil jerked aside and turned to see Andrew, leaning against a nearby streetlight, much alike the one Neil’s kicked in his hateful outburst. “What is it you hate? The sun, the flowers? The birds chirping in the morning? People who step on your shoelaces and make you trip and fall on hard concrete?”

“I hate people who lean against streetlights and scare the crap out of me,” Neil snapped, and kept walking.

“Ouch,” said Andrew, falling into step beside him. “You were planning to walk the whole way back to Palmetto?”

“Maybe.”

“Could’ve called me.”

“Didn’t have my phone.”

“That’s a lame excuse.”

Neil glared at him. “You’re a lame excuse.”

“And you’re creative,” Andrew dryly replied. He then took a hold of Neil’s sleeve and dragged him toward a turn Neil’s been planning to walk right past. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“I’m not,” Neil complained, shaking Andrew’s hand off. “Where are you going?”

“I’m hungry.”

“And you’re dragging me into this why, exactly?”

Andrew gave him a flat look. Neil rolled his eyes, but kept walking where Andrew directed him. They entered a coffee shop, empty at this halfway through morning hour.

They claimed a booth at the end of the place. They ordered breakfast, Andrew with a sickly-sweet-sounding chocolate milkshake, Neil with a cup of coffee. Their drinks arrived after five minutes, and they were told the food could take a while.

Neil burned the tip of his tongue when he tried to drink his coffee, so he leaned back in his seat and watched as Andrew swirled the straw in his milkshake and then loudly slurped it.

“You would’ve died,” Andrew conversationally said, twirling his straw. His elbows were lazily perched against the table, his posture uneven. Neil tilted his head.

“I thought I did.”

“Yes, you died,” Andrew corrected himself. “But you would’ve stayed dead. By all means, you should’ve. In the past,” across centuries, “resuscitating you would never work. You know why?”

Neil gave him a minute shake of the head, looking down at his coffee. Andrew glanced up at him.

“When you die, the moment of your death’s the one that settles it,” Andrew said. “The instant you’re clinically dead, any kind of dead, you’re born again. Trying to bring you back to the living is pointless, because you’re already living a new life.”

Neil sipped his coffee. It was strong and bitter; exactly the kind of thing to wake him up in the morning. “But now there’s nowhere to move on to. No new life, I mean.”

Andrew slurped his milkshake. “Nope.”

“Lucky.”

“Depends on how you look on it,” Andrew said. “On one hand, you’re not going to die now. Probably. If we’re careful. Don’t slip in the shower and all that. On the other hand…”

“I’ll die eventually,” Neil finished for him. He sighed. “Like every normal human being does.”

“You’re not a normal human being,” Andrew told him.

“I used to not be,” Neil corrected him. He pulled up his shoulders, as if to demonstrate, and then dropped them. “I’m as normal as normal gets, I guess. No wings, no powers, no immortality.”

Except, he’s started getting back memories of what should’ve been his immortality. Ever since the incident at the hospital, snippets of his past lives have been slipping back — things he would’ve remembered, had he not forgotten.

Because he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten so much.

He remembered how it felt to live and to die in an endless repeat. Gaps have filled up in his mind, some things that have slipped by — a wooden yo-yo, a hasty kiss. A sister, once; a brother, another time. Dozens of families, a few other lovers — nobody like Andrew — and many, many moments of sunlight.

Because Andrew was like sunlight on his skin. Warmth on his eyelids. A comfort in his heart. He remembered that, and he knew that, too; because Andrew was here with him now, has been with him for as long as time had been defined. Even before that.

“How much do you remember?”

Andrew looked up at him. Neil leaned closer, cocking his head, eyes interlocking with his. “You’re immortal. Do you ever forget?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Never? Not even once?”

“I’m not the type to forget,” Andrew said.

“I’ve been recalling stuff from my past lives,” Neil said, voice contemplative. He leaned his chin against his palm, elbow perched against the table, and gazed into middle space. He then flicked his eyes back to Andrew. “I feel like I’m constantly realizing I’ve been living without little pieces of myself. Important things, like birthdays. And how we went to look at sunsets. And how much you suck at ice skating.”

Andrew’s ears reddened. “I’m out of practice.”

“You suck so bad,” Neil contemplatively continued, his smirk teasing. Andrew turned to slurping his milkshake, until that annoying _brgbrbgrgbr_ sound came out, signaling he’s reached the bottom of the glass.

“At least you’re good at exy,” Neil added.

“My one saving grace,” Andrew impassively replied.

The waitress came with their plates of food, and at their sight, Neil suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten anything honestly edible since forever ago. He dug into his eggs with a delight, finding himself hungrier than he’d been in a long while.

They ate in relative, yet not uncomfortable, silence.

Neil was almost done with his food when a sudden, sharp dizziness took a hold of him. His hands went to the edge of the table, grabbing it as if to stabilize himself, even though he was sitting; his head emptied of thought, and he blinked a few times, trying to clear away the dizziness.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, voice coming out awkward. He stood up, miraculously managing not to stagger, and ignored Andrew’s inquisitive look as he went out the back door.

Fresh air hit his face, and for a second, the dizziness quelled.

And then it _really_ hit him.

He stumbled, hand shooting out for an anchor and finding the wall. He inhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut; when he opened them again, he was falling from the sky.

Panic instantly flared up in his chest, and he scrambled around to catch something — before he realized he didn’t have to. Because he wasn’t _falling_.

Neil halted midair, the wind and the inertia pushing him up against the sudden stop. He looked over his shoulder — and there, behind him, attached to his back, were two wide, white, dazzling wings.

He could feel them, as if they’ve been there all along. Because they had.

This Neil, he’s always had them. He had hands and he had legs and he had wings. He could write and he could run and he could fly.

Neil let that sink in, closing his eyes to revel in the feeling. He was flying; his wings were a worked-over part of his body he could control as swiftly as the rest of his limbs. He stretched them out, then pulled them close; he rose high, then fell low. He opened his eyes and morphed his movement into a glide, catching the wind swirling around him like a dance.

Something dark spotted his vision, but he ignored that and pushed on, a grin stretching out on his face. He looked down; way, way down below, there were dots of light, dots of people, too far away to notice him. He didn’t care, wouldn’t; never has. Not him now, and not Neil of the past.

The muscle memory came back fast, as if having never left him. Flying was for him a second nature; a motion as familiar as the back of his hand. So he flew and he became a part of the wind, and he let everything inside him tumble out, and he let himself feel free.

A darkness creeped at the edges of his vision, something that didn’t belong there. Something he’s seen before, not all that long ago. But the dizziness was gone, and his fears and mistakes and regrets were as frail as the sound of the people way down below. He didn’t want to feel all that, didn’t want to be bound by that curse, didn’t want to go back to a him that’s been born condemned.

He knew, with a swift clarity, that going back meant losing _this_. And he didn’t want to lose this.

Here, now, he was free. He’s never known a freedom like this.

He didn’t want to go back to a world where he didn’t have it.

But he couldn’t keep this. It was all but a memory, a vivid recreation of something long past and left behind; something that was no longer there. He was indulging in a past that wasn’t meant to be experienced again. Wasn’t meant to be changed. Wasn’t meant to be reached like this.

“No,” he let out, breath leaving him as he tumbled down down in the sky. His wings curled around him like a net, protecting him from the whiplash; keeping him safe. He was fading; he was growing awake.

But he hasn’t been sleeping; there was nothing for him to wake up _from_.

He couldn’t mess with the past like this. Couldn’t claim it for himself, not anymore. This wasn’t supposed to be possible.

It was, but just barely. Because he was either dying or waking up. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“…starting striker for the Palmetto Foxes. Your name is Neil Josten…”

Neil blinked into himself. The first sensation he registered was a cold, familiar touch at the back of his neck.

His face scrunched up into a frown, a headache pressing against his temples like a pair of tongs. He let out a pained huff and pulled down into himself, finding that he was on his knees on the ground, out in the open behind the coffee shop.

Something was missing. Something was horribly wrong, missing, _gone_.

Neil scrambled back against the ground, tearing free of the hands tethering him into reality. His hand reached back, to his shoulder; then his back hit the wall, and it met no resistance, initiating no unusual sensation.

When he’d been caught by his father for that last time, his father had wanted to take away his legs to teach him not to run again. Neil was a runner; he was born one, has been running his whole life. He’s spent much more time running than living, and that had been his only hope for too long. His Mom’s told him to never stop. Made him promise to never let that go.

Nathan had almost taken his legs, back then. He would’ve, had he not been interrupted. Neil didn’t ever spend time thinking about it, because that thought of what if — what if his father had had more time, what if he’d crippled him, what if the only thing that has ever given him a taste of freedom — the thought of that being _gone_ , it fucking terrified him. He’d woken up screaming dreaming about it. Spent countless nights unable to sleep at all because of it.

He didn’t need to wonder what it would’ve felt like anymore. Because he knew. He knew what it meant for that part of him to be gone.

Neil clawed at his shirt, a painful wheeze springing out of his throat. It was gone, gone, he would never have that anymore. He could never fly again, feel that wind in his hair like he had back then. He was bound to his place on the ground. And the worst part of it? Now that he knew how it felt _not_ to be, now that he knew how it _used_ to feel to have wings, he couldn’t take them not being there anymore.

Because he’d lost them. His wings were gone. And he knew, with the raw kind of certainty, he knew it was something that couldn’t be remedied. Cut off a man’s legs and he won’t be walking.

A wretched kind of sound came out of his throat, his eyes squeezing shut against the light. His face was wet, a spot in his chest burning hot, and he couldn’t make it stop. He curled onto himself, his hand still clutching his shirt; and, with his face pressed to his knees, head bent low, teeth clenched so hard it hurt, he sobbed.

“Neil, hey,” came a soft voice, barely registering in his ears. Neil curled up smaller. “What’s the matter?”

Neil couldn’t respond. It was all he could to do try and keep breathing. He felt somebody brush back his hair. Andrew’s hand. His touch was familiar, grounding; it traveled back until it rested on that same spot at the back of his neck. A voice was murmuring something soothing in his ear, the roughness brought on by years of smoking grinding the words into a monotonous sound.

Slowly, Neil felt his breathing matching up to the rhythm of Andrew’s voice, the sobs dying down into tremors, until even that stopped. But he didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move an inch. His throat was scratchy. His chest was aching.

“That’s it,” Andrew quietly said, his voice clearer than before. Or maybe Neil was just hearing him better. “Breathe. Slow and steady. That’s it.”

Neil breathed in, exhaling along with Andrew. Andrew let him go, and Neil briefly saddened for the loss of that comfort. He inhaled again, keeping the breath trapped inside for a few seconds, and then let it slowly escape.

He nudged his head upward, glimpsing Andrew’s face.

“You with me?” Andrew asked.

Neil nodded, letting out another quivering breath.

“What happened?”

“Flashback,” Neil muttered. “Told you. Been remembering.”

“I thought you meant while dreaming,” Andrew said. Neil minutely shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

“What did you see?”

“I was—“ _flying_ , he tried to say. A chill ran down his spine at the thought. “Before.”

“Before the fall?”

“I was free,” Neil mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek. “Not me.”

Andrew studied him for a few long moments, and Neil let him. He couldn’t help but think that maybe Andrew could fix this. But there was no fixing it. Not this. “I’ve had my wings.”

Andrew’s expression shifted into something unreadable.

“I don’t have them anymore,” Neil said, his voice hollow. “They’re gone.”

“Neil,” Andrew started. Neil looked up at him, his eyes attentive. Andrew looked away. “I’m sorry.”

Neil bit his lips, the tinge of copper slipping into his mouth. He held onto that sensation, to the recoil he reflexively felt at the taste; he held onto it like a lifeline. Because if he didn’t, he thought he might just drown. Again.

“I can take you,” Andrew suddenly said. Neil turned his attention back to him, seeing something intense looking back. “You want to fly? I can take you.”

Anger dripped down Neil’s throat. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? I _can’t_ ,” his voice rose. “I don’t have any wings. They’ve been taken, I’ve been crippled, and now I’m good for nothing, yeah?” The wind left him as quickly as it rose. “M’not good for anything.”

“Are you?” Andrew said, his voice steady. Neil glared up at him. “Do you really believe you’re good for _nothing_?”

“Always have been,” Neil bit back. “A fake guy with a fake name, not really a person, no longer an angel. What _am_ I good for, Andrew? Huh?” His voice soured. “I can’t get away from the things chasing after me. But it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? I’ve always been like this. Only difference is I’ve always died before figuring out how pointless everything about me is. Live and die, live and die. I only exist for your suffering.”

Something blank came over Andrew’s face. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Neil snapped, voice scathing. “You know what I think? I think you’re only entertaining this to let yourself believe you really exist. If you’re hurting, then you’re real. Why else would you kiss me?”

Andrew’s jaw set, his eyes clouding. “You think I’m using you.”

Neil scrambled upright, steadying himself against the wall. “Anybody else would have quit,” he called out, stepping away. “You _hold on_ to this. You hold on—“ he huffed, dizziness slowly coming back to him, “—to me, like I’m some fucking—“ he was losing his touch on his surroundings— “answer— well I’m fucking _not,_ okay?” His voice climbed higher with every word, the end of it coming out wheezy. “I can’t give you _anything_. I _have_ nothing to give you.”

“That’s right,” Andrew said, having climbed to his feet as well. He was studying Neil from his place, not moving toward him. “There’s nothing you can give me. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Except you want me to kiss you and to love you and to die for you,” Neil wheezed, leaning his back against the wall and glaring up at the clear sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.

“I don’t want you to do anything,” Andrew said. “You shouldn’t kiss me if you don’t want to. You can walk away right now, if you want to.”

Neil turned skeptical eyes to him, but Andrew was serious. He was evenly looking back.

“You’re hurting,” Andrew said. “And I’m sorry. Your wings are gone. Your past lives are gone. Everything that’s been, it’s all been had and has passed, and none of it is ever coming back. You’re not the only one who’s lost all of that.”

Neil opened his mouth, but nothing but air came out.

“I wish I could’ve given you these things,” Andrew said. “I wish _I_ could have them back. But we can’t do anything but deal with what we have. What we have is right here, right now. You’re alive. So what if you can’t fly? I don’t need you to fucking fly.”

They observed each other.

“You were never free,” Andrew finally told him. “And neither was I. That’s why we have to go through all of this, now. Because we’ve tried to have what we weren’t allowed.”

“You can’t fix this,” Neil said. He saw Andrew take in a breath, then drop his head.

“No, I can’t.”

“And we can never go back,” Neil added.

“We can’t.”

“So what can we do?”

Andrew glanced up. “My offer stands.”

Neil bit his lips, a small smile slipping free.

Andrew out let his wings.

***

On the top of a tall building, its side graffitied with a massive, pale crescent moon, two figures could be seen sitting. From the pavement, way down below, the wings outspread from one of their backs would be dismissed as a trick of the the light of the setting sun.

Up there, though, there was no mistaking them.

Neil shuffled closer to Andrew. One of his knees was pulled up to his chest, the other dangling in the air; his hand absently brushed Andrew’s soft feathers, his wings protectively curled toward him. One of the feathers detached, sticking to his palm, and he settled for playing with.

“What happened to your wings?” Neil asked. “Or have they always been like this?”

A few beats passed before Andrew replied. “They haven’t.”

Neil frowned. “Did you fall into a fire?”

His shoulders pressed against Andrew’s chest, Neil could feel a huff that might’ve passed for a laugh had it been audible. “No, Junkie.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

“It looks,” Neil started, then fell quiet. His fingers gently pulled apart the strings of the feather, and a crumble of black stuck to the tip of his thumb, quickly breaking apart into nothing. “It kind of looks like you’re losing your powers. Or your, I don’t know, your grace or something.” He shifted to try and glimpse Andrew face, but gave up on that when it couldn’t be achieved without completely changing his position. “Especially after what the accident did to you.”

Andrew hummed.

“You worried?”

After a few minutes passed without Andrew’s reply, Neil dropped the subject. He watched as the sun set in the distance and darkness fell about them like a blanket, the starts have not yet come out to light up the sky for them. Neil sank against Andrew, a comfort washing over him; the shadows protected him.

“How long have you been having flashbacks?”

“Hmm?”

Andrew shifted slightly. “Like today.”

“Not long,” Neil said. “Two, maybe three days. I don’t know.”

“And they’re always like that?”

Neil frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you’re dying.”

Neil’s eyes widened, and he shifted around to see Andrew. The sudden motion almost sent him off the roof, but Andrew caught his arm in lighting speed, pulling him toward himself. “What do you mean, like I’m _dying_?”

“Unresponsive, heart slowing down, shallow breathing,” Andrew curtly replied. “Does it always happen?”

“No,” Neil said. At least, he didn’t _think_ so. He’d been fine back at the hospital, if only a little dazed. His frown deepened. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Did you do something?”

Neil gave him a dry look. “It’s a flashback, Andrew. I don’t have control—“ he paled, his voice trailing. “…Oh. Oops.”

Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “Oops?”

Neil’s shoulders scrunched into himself. “I might’ve indulged a little, today. I mean, I didn’t even think about it— I had wings and it was kind of fun, so I, like, tried it out.”

“You tried it out,” Andrew echoed. “What did you try out last time?”

Neil’s bit his lips, catching Andrew’s meaning. His voice pitched unevenly. “I tried to warn you?”

“You tried to—“ Andrew cut himself off and looked aside, hand covering his mouth. He then rubbed it across his face, pushed back his hair, and looked back to Neil. “You’ve got to stop engaging with your memories.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Neil protested.

“Then don’t mean to harder,” Andrew replied. “Because if you keep doing it, sooner or later it’ll kill you. Oh, wait,” Andrew flatly added. “It already did.”

“Ok, ok,” Neil said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I won’t.”

Andrew nodded, seemingly accepting it, and Neil settled back into his previous position, enveloped in Andrew’s wings. They were warm and comfy, and Neil felt like he could fall asleep, safe and sound, right there.

His eyes started flattering shut, the day taking its toll over him. But he didn’t fall asleep.

Andrew shifted behind him, and an elbow accidentally hitting Neil’s ribcage had his eyes snapping open. “Andrew? What’s—“

And then he saw it. Something was deteriorating, black crumbles falling onto Neil’s clothes; it took him a beat to realize those were feathers. Andrew’s feathers. Andrew’s wings.

Andrew pulled away from Neil, his face bewildered, and got up to stalk across the rooftop, flapping his wings as if to wake them up. Neil was fixed in his place, staring at him; staring as, one by one, Andrew’s feathers blackened and went out, leaving nothing but soot-like crumbles to litter the ground.

Andrew was muttering something under his breath, too quiet and distant for Neil to catch. Andrew stopped flapping his wings, and they sagged; his eyes met Neil’s, and they both stilled, expressions mirroring each other’s.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the blackening and crumbling of Andrew’s feathers stopped.

Andrew tore his eyes from Neil’s, twisting to glimpse his back. He was met with half the amount of feathers he’d had.

“Andrew,” Neil called out, his voice trailing. “Are you okay?” Another pause, Neil receiving no reply. “What was that?”

Andrew flapped his wings behind him. They gave an attempt and then sagged again, not holding enough strength.

Neil approached him. “Andrew.”

Andrew finally looked at him.

“What’s happening?” Neil asked, voice uncertain. Andrew shook his head, his eyes dazed. He tried to flap his wings a few more times and then collected them.

“Call Matt,” he said. He then inhaled and fumbled in his pockets, holding his own phone out for Neil. “I can’t take you back to Palmetto.”

“But—“

“Take it,” Andrew snapped, nudging the phone forward. Neil took it, only belatedly moving to make the call.

It rang a few times, before Matt’s confused voice came out of the speaker. “Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer and closer to the end :0 either next chapter or the one after that will be the last, I'll decide at some point heh. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for reading.


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